So Not Myself
by suppi-kero-chans
Summary: Life as Harry Potter sucks. Life as Draco Malfoy sucks, too. There's no better cure for self-pity than a good, long walk in someone else's shoes. ::your standard "trade bodies" fic with (what i hope is) a different twist. complete::
1. The Stage is Set

NOTE: I'm re-editing this, so the chapters are coming down. I'll re-upload about one or two chapters a day. Should be done by Tuesday. (That "Crabbed" thing was really getting to me...) 

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

Draco sighed and leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Glancing around the corner, he half-hoped he wouldn't see Crabbe and Goyle. They were getting more and more unbearable now that they'd discovered they both harbored secret passions for Millicent Bullstrode. 

With another sigh, he turned towards the Great Hall, resigning himself to eating breakfast alone--a fact that didn't bother him in the least. It seemed it was easier to be alone these days. There wasn't anyone glaring at him, or asking him if he was OK. Or talking to him about his father, or the Dark Lord. 

With a small smile at Pansy, Draco dropped onto the bench several feet down from her. She was all right to talk to every now and then, but he just wasn't in the mood for conversation. Sighing again, the blond poked at his food, his eyes wandering across the Hall, landing on a green-eyed boy who currently looked as miserable as he felt. 

Welcome to the club, he thought, pushing his plate away and standing back up. You think life it tough, Potter? Just try living on my side of the world. Wandering towards the dungeon class room for morning lessons, he felt the familiar numbness settle over him. It had been like that since he found out about his father. Just an empty place inside him that should have felt something, but that felt nothing. 

He wasn't sure if he should be glad, or upset, or indifferent. He hated his father. He hated the Dark Lord. But he also hated change and variance. While he was adaptable, he didn't like being required to adapt. The summer had been hell, punctuated by visits from Severus and mood swings from his mother. One minute she was as calm as could be and the next she was angry about something, snapping at Draco and anyone else stupid enough to go near her. So he'd adapted. He'd gone to staying in his room. Or outside. He'd spent the warmer days in the shade of the trees on the edge of the forest that surrounded the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He would bring his books out and just stay there for hours, writing his essays in silence. 

Then there were Severus's visits. He'd stopped by about once a week to make sure they were doing all right. Sometimes Narcissa would snap that everything was fine and he was only being under foot, popping in at all hours of the day when decent people were trying to get on with their daily doings. Other times she would thank him for coming and led him into one of the sitting rooms, offering him a drink (which he never accepted) and closing the door behind them. Sometimes Draco would hear her crying when she was with Severus. She never cried at night, or when she was alone. Only with Severus. 

When he was done being bullied by, or comforting, Narcissa (depending on her mood), Severus would go to Draco and ask him about school work. Was he nearly finished? Did he need any help? Did he have everything he needed? The conversation never touched on his father. They'd had enough private conversations over the years for Severus to know better than to bring it up. The times they spent together were often passed with Draco doodling on a spare scrap of parchment, nodding every few seconds, or ignoring the man completely, just staring sightlessly into the blank spaces between the words of whatever textbook was closest when Severus walked into the room. 

Over those short times of dead conversation, Draco had come to find comfort in the man's deep, smooth voice. Half the time he didn't even hear the words, just the steady presence of _something_. It made things bearable and, whether Severus knew it or not, Draco was grateful. He never cried over the situation the way his mother did, but if he were going to, he would do it with Severus, the same as her. 

Pushing the class room door open, Draco wasn't surprised to find Severus at the front of the class, studying a thick book as words wrote themselves on the blackboard behind him in his own, scrawling cursive. Severus looked up for a moment before turning his attention back to his book. 

Once more grateful for the man knowing when not to say anything, Draco just sat in his usual seat and took out his textbook. Opening it to a random page, he stared at the words. 

_Hamilton Kepple was the fourth member of the explorative team responsible for the discovery of--_

Draco was pulled out of the irrelevant drabble his was reading when the door opened. The sound of slow steps down the stairs to the front of the room kept his attention just enough to make him read the same line three more times before looking up when the chalk stopped writing on the board. Harry Potter was standing in front of Severus's desk. 

"Umm, sir?" 

"What is it, Potter?" 

"Professor Dumbledore said I should talk to you about, umm, my extra classes." 

"You may see me later. You'll be late for first period." 

"I didn't get my schedule this morning." He seemed to be talking more to himself than Severus when he said this. 

"Then I suggest you see your head of house," the man replied, still not looking up from his work. 

There was a moment of silence before Harry said, "Yes, sir." 

The steps up the stairs were slightly faster and the door closed more roughly than was necessary. Looking up again, Draco found Severus to be looking at the door with the twist of a sneer on his face. 

"Professor?" 

"Yes?" 

After a second, he shook his head and looked back at his book. "Nothing." 

Severus went back to reading his book and the click and scrape of the chalk on the board resumed.

* * *

"Harry, there you are! You ran off before Professor McGonagall passed out our time tables." 

"I didn't notice," he answered absently. 

"Well, I got yours for you, but I think there was a mistake." 

Scowling, Harry took the offered paper and scanned it quickly. What sort of mistake-- There it was. Right on the first line. Monday morning, period one, double Potions with Slytherin. "I shouldn't have made NEWT Potions," he said. "I didn't have a Potions book on my list." 

"When she gave it to me Professor McGonagall said to send you up to see her. Maybe she has a book for you." 

"If I go now I'll be late." 

"If you turn up at Potions without your book Snape'll manage to take a hundred points off by asking you questions you couldn't possibly know the answers to. If you're late, he'll only take ten points off once." 

Glaring at the paper for a second, he nodded curtly. She was, of course, right. "I'll be down soon then," he said before walking away. 

"Harry," Hermione called. 

He looked over his shoulder at her. 

"Smile." 

Sighing, he turned back around and jogged up the stairs, taking every other set two at a time. The last thing he felt like doing was smiling. 

Thought Harry knew she meant well, he had to force down the annoyance that had been fighting its way closer and closer to the surface. From an explosive exit at the Dursley's to a long summer of being shuffled from Order member to Order member, the events of the passed three months were not piling up in a very flattering manner. 

After nearly killing all of his remaining family members when he lost his temper at being ordered back outside to wipe his feet, for the hundredth time, after several hours of gardening under the hot sun, Harry had been swept off to Order Headquarters where Remus had been waiting to tell him how careless he'd been. After that it was a downward spiral of people taking turns trying to cheer him up. One at a time they would come to him with happy smiles and promises that everything would be all right, and one by one he shot them down with snide remarks and sarcastic comments. He'd even gotten nasty with Mrs. Weasley which had not only made him feel guilty, but more angry, so the next victim lined up for the shooting--Ron--had gotten thrown bodily from the room with promises of pain beyond death if he bothered to come back. Ron hadn't spoken to Harry again all summer. 

Hermione, for all her caring, had suffered much at his hands as well. She, however, was a little more understanding and tolerant. Her unending patience and reasonable honesty were welcomed on one level, but despised on another. In the moments when he'd been closest to giving up and letting himself be swallowed by guilt and anger and fear, her steady voice had broken into the dark prison he'd made for himself in his third- floor room of Twelve Grimwauld Place. At times he would just sit on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed, staring passed her, taking in what she had to say without a sign of gratitude. Other times he would thank her for stopping in. And still others he would push her out of the room as soon as she walked in, slamming and locking the door in her face. But it didn't change anything. She was still there the next morning with an encouraging smile and a tray of toast, eggs, and juice for his breakfast. 

Harry had spent hours locked away in the room with Buckbeak, talking to him, stroking his feathers and feeding him. It seemed the closest he could get to Sirius. Part of him felt guilty for taking Sirius's place in the creature's life, but all it took was the grateful glow in his large eyes when the boy stopped to visit to bring Harry back again the next day. He found comfort in being alone with someone. He sensed that Buckbeak was the only one in the entire house who shared his loss. They would mourn Sirius together in quiet hours of study. Sometimes he didn't bother bringing books to pour over. He just wandered into the room in the middle of the night and sat with the hippogriff, enjoying the feeling of leaning into his warm, caring body, finding a few minutes of sleep. 

Finding himself standing in front of the door to the Transfiguration class room, Harry took a deep breath. The last time he'd spoken to McGonagall, he'd snapped at her that he didn't need any more sympathy and unless she had something important to say to him, she could just go back to her little mission which, obviously, couldn't have _anything_ to do with him as he hadn't heard anything about it. She'd tried to retort, but the bedroom door was slammed in her face just the same as it had been slammed in Ron's and Remus's and everyone else's. Now standing outside her door, he couldn't help but wonder how hard it had been for her to go to him and offer comfort when she must have spent the previous weeks hearing the tales of terror from Harry's doorstep that every prior well-wisher had endured. Taking a final breath, his opened the door and stepped through. 

"Professor?" 

Professor McGonagall looked up, studying him over the tops of her spectacles. "Yes?" 

"Hermione said you wanted to see me." 

"I have a book for you. Professor Dumbledore and myself had a discussion and we felt that you should be allowed to take Potions this year. As you have to continue with Occlumency, we figured it would be the easier to cover your sessions with Severus if you were in his class." 

Harry nodded, walking forward to take the book she had taken out of her desk. "Thank you, ma'am." 

McGonagall smiled a little bit. "You'll also need to improve in your Potion's grade if you want to be able to continue training to be an Aurorer." 

With a bitter snort of laughter, he said, "I don't think they let people who can't control their emotions be Aurorers. But thanks for the vote of confidence." 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Potter, they made Tonks an Aurorer. Even with your mood swings I think you stand as well a chance as her. If not more of one. Now get going. You have ten minutes or you'll be late. And I expect to win the House Cup this year," she added. 

Forcing a smile, Harry took the book. "Thanks. Professor, I'm sorry. For what I said that day. I was...a little stressed out, I think." 

"We're all a little stressed out," she answered calmly. 

Nodding, he turned to the door and made his way out to the hallway. He felt better having spoken to her and he was relieved that she was acting as close to normal as possible. He couldn't help but grin a little when he thought of how she'd lord their win over Snape. Feeling lighter, he thought, If I run I can make it to class on time. 

Bolting down the hall, dodging students and ghosts, Harry barely stopped himself from barreling into little Professor Flitwick. He called an apology over his shoulder and took the steps down to the dungeons two and three at a time. Skidding to a stop just in front of the class room, Harry opened the door, breathing hard, and made his way to the seat next to Hermione, dropping into place just as the bell rang. 

Hermione looked at him questioningly and he turned to her with a grin on his face. Beating Snape out was one of the few joys he still had in life. 

She smiled back before facing forward for Snape's beginning of the year threat. 

"Well, well, well. Several stupid, careless little children gone. Only attentive, talented little children left. Oh, but what is this? Potter, have you stumbled into the wrong class?" 

"No, sir." 

Snape glared at him for a moment, as if debating on saying more. Instead, he stood up and surveyed the rest of the class. "This year will be dedicated to learning more difficult potions. Potions that all of you should be able to brew with ease. Any student to be found performing below standards will be removed to a study hall immediately." Black eyes met green ones. 

Harry stared back defiantly. 

"_No_ exceptions. That said, I expect this year to go by fairly productively. Now, take out your holiday work and pass it forward, then turn to page fifteen in your books." 

Slumping in his seat as the class moved into "lecture" mode, Harry tried to pay attention, but found himself zoning out. There was something melodic about the tones Snape's voice made that lulled him into a stupor. Not as badly as Binns's, but it certainly didn't help to have him standing up there for an hour just talking. 

When the second hour of the class began, Harry was jolted out of his daydreaming haze by a sharp, "Now get to work. I want a vial turned in, properly sealed, by the end of class." 

Harry looked at Hermione with a slightly alarmed expression in his wide, green eyes. "Are we, umm, working in partners?" 

Smiling again, Hermione nodded slightly, pushing her open book closer to him. "I'll go get the ingredients ."

* * *

Muttering the spell to seal the vial containing his Switching Solution, Draco walked to the front of the room and set it in the rack Severus had on his desk. Back in his seat, he passed the last ten minutes of class doodling on the edge of page twenty-one in his textbook. By the time the bell rang an airy dragon was curled around the page number, about to swallow the last line of print on the page. 

Scowling a little, Draco had to admit to himself that it didn't really look that much like any dragon _he'd_ ever seen. 

Draco scooped his books into his bag and stood up, stretching and shouldering his bag. Without looking around the room, he moved up to the door, the first to exit the class, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. Walking without really thinking about where he was going, Draco made his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. As he came to a stop by the door, he suppressed a groan of annoyance. 

"Draco! How was your first class?" 

"It was fine, Greg," he answered, entering the room, not bothering to check if his friends were following him. He sat in the back row of desks and watched, barely amused, as Crabbe and Goyle fought over who got to sit behind Millicent. 

The pictures of dragons and grindylows and other odd creatures that lined the walls moved, jeering at the students closest to them. With an annoyed sneer, Draco tore page three out of his DA text, balled it up, and threw it at a werewolf who was leering at him from the dark canvas it was painted on. God, I hate werewolves, he thought, images of the slobbering, evil-eyed creature that he'd seen only too closely in his childhood flitting to his mind. 

Draco was seven when he got his first broom stick, a top-of-the-line Comet Two-Sixty. In his childishness, he'd refused to return to the manor when he was told, insisting he was big enough to stay out after dark, flying. When he'd crashed his broom near the edge of the forest, Draco had only enough time to stand up before he heard the low growl and saw the haunting, lantern eyes floating in the bushes. He'd screamed as the thing lunged at him, pinning him to the ground, its hot, foamy saliva dripping from its bristled muzzle onto his face. It bore its teeth at the young Draco, snarling and sniffing fiercely. 

Pain shot through his arm just as a shock of green magic knocked the werewolf back into the thick of the underbrush. Searing pain ran through Draco's body and the last thing he remembered before the blackness took him was his mother's terrified voice screeching, "It bite him! Oh, God, _Lucius_!" 

After several weeks at St. Mungo's, and many painful courses of medication, Draco had been cured. But the ordeal had left a scar on his memory and a deep prejudice in his and his parents' hearts. Werewolves were evil. Not matter what anyone said about Wolfsbane Potions or coping therapies. 

Glaring at the painted werewolf who snapped at Draco more fiercely, he thought, Whoever painted that has never seen a real werewolf. They're much worse than that tame little thing. 

Millicent's deep, rumbling voice suddenly reached Draco's quiet thoughts, causing him to wince. "Who do you think the professor is? There wasn't anyone new at the Head Table yesterday." 

"I don't know. Probably some hack-job vampire Dumbledore found wandering in the Forbidden Forest," Pansy said to her friend. 

A few minutes later, they found out exactly who the new DA professor was. A short man with a slight build and a shy smile. He introduced himself as Professor Milton and expressed a deep satisfaction at having been offered the position. After that part, Draco toned him out, entertaining himself by scribbling senseless patterns in the margins of his books. 

When the bell rang, Draco was once again the first to his feet and the first out the door, leaving Crabbe and Goyle behind to stumble over each other, trying to get closer to Millicent. 

Lunch hadn't come soon enough, though Draco wasn't the least bit hungry. Walking through the halls, he made his way to the grounds, throwing his bag on the grassy slope by the lake. He dropped down beside it and stared out at the still water. A cool breeze ruffled his robes. Sighing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet of the day. Everyone else was still shuffling around inside. It would be several minutes before anyone else got around to going outside. 

"It's pretty out today." 

Draco's eyes snapped open, his head turning sharply. Pansy was standing close behind him, her slender fingers twirling around one of the few remaining leaves on the bush nearest to her. She looked pretty with her cheeks slightly flushed in the cool air, her hair pulled back in a braid, her lips, pink with shiny gloss, parted slightly as she looked down at him. 

Ignoring her, Draco looked back over the water. Maybe if he didn't encourage her she'd go away on her own. 

"You looked really distracted today." Pansy stepped closer, kneeling beside him. "Are you OK?" 

Annoyed, his lip curled in a sneer, Draco didn't answer her. He felt her hand rest lightly on his arm, but ignored the touch, neither leaning into it, nor pulling away. 

"You can talk to me, Draco. You know you can." When she still didn't get a reply, Pansy leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek lightly. "I love you." 

Draco's jaw stiffened. He hated it when she said that. A few years ago he would have died to hear those words from her. But that was back in second year when he had a hopeless crush on her. Third year he'd gotten up the nerve to sit by her at lunch sometimes. Stints with other girls who were brave enough to make the first move gave him confidence enough to ask her out in fourth year. They were an item for several Slytherin parties and the Yule Ball. Somewhere over the summer between fourth and fifth year the newness seemed to wear off for Draco. Whatever childish love had pushed him to leave an anonymous Valentine's Day flower on her pillow in third year was gone. There were other girls for him and other boys for her over fifth year. 

Now, with Pansy leaning against his arm, her cool, pink lips hovering inches from his cheek, all Draco could feel was disgust. Disgust with the thick scent of her perfume and with her quietly whispered, insincere, "I love you." 

He almost told her to go away, but that would be a sign that he recognized her presence. So he just stared ahead harder, focusing on a patch of bushes rustling in the wind on the other side of the lake. 

When he didn't answer her, Pansy sat back a little, her hand still on his arm. "I mean that, Draco. If you need me, I'm here for you." After a moment, she stood and walked slowly back up the slope towards the castle, the sound of her foot falls lost in the wind. 

The sound of laughter floated to the edge of the water as groups of second and third years wandered outside. Sighing again, Draco stood up, picked up his bag, and made his way up to the school with lazy steps. He was in no particular hurry to be anywhere, so he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and strolled up the stairs and through the door, which was thrown open to coax in a breeze and invite students to leave the building ( probably Filtch's doing--anything to tempt the little rats outside).

* * *

"Hi, Harry." 

Harry lifted his head and looked over at Neville, who'd walked into the room. After escaping from Hermione by ducking out of last period while she simpered to the professor about some technical question, he'd been quite content to be the only person in the dorm room for the last hour or so. He'd collapsed on the bed and buried himself in feeling sorry for himself. Pulled from the painful thought he'd been lost in, Harry wasn't sure if he welcomed the distraction, or was annoyed by it. Neville's sympathetic smile nearly sent him over the edge of the latter. 

"Hi, Neville. Good summer?" 

"It was all right. Yours?" 

"Sucked," he answered shortly, facing away from the other boy. 

"Oh. I made it into NEWTs Herbology," he continued, striving for conversation. 

"That's great, Neville," Harry replied half-heartedly. He should have been happier for his friend. After all, things never went right for the bumbling boy, but this year was already looking up for him in two ways. One, no Potions. Two, NEWTs Herbology with his favorite teacher. Trying to sound, and feel, more enthusiastic, Harry rolled over and sat up, his messy hair sticking up even more. "I'm really glad for you." 

Smiling, Neville said, "I got into NEWT DA, too." 

Remembering the plight of "Dumbledore's Army" from the previous year, Harry couldn't help but grin. He'd been so proud of all the members, especially Neville, who had improved more than all the others put together. "We have that tomorrow, right?" 

"Yeah. I heard the new professor is nice. Too bad Professor Lupin couldn't have come back. He was really good." 

Thinking about Remus brought a twinge of guilt to his mind, so Harry just said, "Hmm," not wanting to invite further conversation on that subject. 

"Hermione was in the common room, looking for you." 

"Yeah? What did she want?" 

"I don't know. I offered to see if you were up here, but she said to just leave you alone if you were sleeping." Neville looked at him questioningly. 

Without hesitation, Harry answered, "I'm sleeping." 

"Ok. I'll go tell her." 

"Thanks." As Neville walked out of the room, Harry dropped back on the bed. Everything was so confused. Especially with Hermione. He really liked having her there. It helped, he thought. But sometimes he just didn't feel like listening to her positive talk about moving passed things and dealing with loss. She was great, but not today. Harry just wanted to wallow in peace. 

Aside from the feelings he had about Sirius, something else had happened over the summer to confuse him. It had come at the worse possible time from the worst possible person. 

_FLASHBACK _

Harry leaned back against the headboard of his bed. The pillows were flattened from him sitting on them for the passed few hours and the blankets had all been shoved on the floor. The blinds were closed, leaving the room a darkened tomb. He had no idea what time it was and he really didn't care. 

Having moved his room up to the third floor, Harry managed to get away from all the voices down stairs. That, however, had made it more difficult to hide from his thoughts. The silence was deafening and drew him more and more to Buckbeak's room, where the soft coos and squawks comforted him. 

Standing up, Harry pulled on a pair of trousers, figuring he shouldn't be wandering around in his underwear just incase someone decided to ascend to his hell for a visit. He pulled the door open and walked down the hall, entering Buckbeak's spacious room. 

"Hey, Beaky," he greeted, closing the door behind him. 

Buckbeak squawked, shifting his weight. He seemed down right happy for the company. 

"I know, I haven't been to see you in a couple days. I've been cramming in the last of my homework. Only a couple days and I'm off to school." Settling on the floor, Harry absently stroked the feathers on the hippogriff's neck. "I don't know if I want to go back there. I mean, it just won't be the same. And I'll have to deal with Ron. We share a room at school. No, he still isn't talking to me." 

Large, orange eyes narrowed at him in an accusing manner. 

"Don't look at me that way!" he cried defensively. "It's not my fault!" 

Buckbeak squawked a little, turning his beak up and away from Harry in a disagreeable fashion. 

"He shouldn't have bothered me when he knew I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Sure, maybe I was a bit of a jerk, but he was asking for it." 

"Maybe if you'd just talk to him, he'd forgive you." 

Harry looked back at the doorway where Hermione stood. She had a cute knee-length summer dress on and her bushy hair was up in a sloppy bun. Her lips were curved in a small smile. 

"I don't need to be forgiven," he answered, looking back at Buckbeak. 

Walking into the room, Hermione knelt beside Harry. "He cares about you. Just like I do. They all do--" 

"Then they should leave me alone when I say I want to be left alone," Harry retorted sharply. 

"It's hard to watch someone you love hurt so badly and just stand by and not be able to do anything," she said softly. Hermione put a hand on his, something she'd come to do a lot when she found herself talking to the back of Harry's head. 

He looked at her. 

"Harry, a lot of people love you very much. And they could help you so much if you just let them." 

"I don't want anyone's help." 

"You don't mind me all the time." 

"You're different." He wasn't sure how, he just knew she was. 

Hermione smiled, her cheeks turning a little red. "I love you, too, Harry. And I don't want to see you sad. Sirius wouldn't want you to lock yourself away from your friends." 

"What do you know about what Sirius would want?" he snapped, pulling away from her and standing. He strode towards the door, his lips set in a straight line. 

"I know he loved you. And I know he'd have just as hard a time seeing you suffer as we do!" she called angrily. "Do you think you're the only person who's hurt? The only one who feels? That's just selfish!" 

Startled by her raising her voice, something she hadn't done once when dealing with him, Harry stopped and looked at her. There were tears streaming down her face but her eyes were dark and stern, her lips set in a firm line. "I'm not trying to be selfish!" he yelled back. "I just want someone to understand how I feel, but no one can, so it's pointless!" 

Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Hermione crossed the room in a few long, purposeful strides. Harry was sure she was going to smack him, but it never came. Instead, her lips, wet with tears, were pressed hard against his. 

Harry's eyes went wide and his hands went automatically to her shoulders. He wasn't quite sure what to do. What was it with crying girls kissing him? As his mind wrestled with pushing her away or holding her closer, she pulled away and looked up into his face. 

"People would know how you felt if you told them." With that, she walked passed him quickly, her foot steps fading as she retreated up the hall and down the stairs. 

Harry just stood for a moment, shocked. He wasn't sure if she was angry at him or not. Looking at Buckbeak's wide eyes, he said, "What are you looking at? It's not like I asked her to do that." 

Buckbeak just coed softly as Harry left, closing the door. 

END FLASHBACK 

Over the next couple days Hermione had been quiet, visiting only to bring him breakfast. When she'd stopped long enough to chat the day before they would leave for the train station, Harry had stopped her when she tried to explain. He said he didn't want explanation. It was fine, they could just both pretend it never happened, end of story. After hesitating for only a moment, she'd nodded her agreement and things went back to normal. 

The only problem was that things weren't back to normal. Not because Harry had feelings for Hermione that he couldn't cope with, but because he _didn't_ have feelings for her. He did love her as a friend and he was grateful for her help and attention, but it just wasn't...right. That was the only word he could think of to fit the way it felt. It just didn't feel _right_. 

Harry sighed once again and stood up. He needed to see Snape, so he might as well do it now and get it over with. Hopefully, Hermione was already out of the common room so he wouldn't have to make his excuses around her. And he desperately hoped Ron wasn't down there.

* * *

Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders, massaging his neck with tired hands. He was standing out by the entrance hall, helping lost first years find their way to their last classes, directing them to their dorms, or otherwise being the helpful prefect. It was a duty he didn't look forward to, and one the other sixth year prefects passed off on each other as much as possibly. It actually should have been Weasley's turn, but he had a Quidditch team meeting, or something. The way Draco saw it, he needed it badly enough. Why they didn't kick that degenerate off the team was far beyond him. Gryffindor sympathy, or something. 

As dinner drew nearer, the crowds in the hall thinned out some, leaving Draco with time to lean against the wall. In his leaning, he caught a glimpse of Potter, hurrying down the stairs from the second floor. For a moment he thought an insult would make him feel better, but when Potter got within shouting distance the spirit just wasn't there. 

"All right, Malfoy," Hannah Abott said as she walked up to him. "I'm here to take over for the dinner rush ." 

Trying to force a smirk, Draco failed miserably and headed towards the dungeons. A good long shower while everyone else was eating would be nice. Maybe a long, soaking bath, he mused. As he passed Severus's class, he heard Potter's voice. Whining, like always, he thought, peeking in. 

"I can't turn in an assignment I wasn't assigned!" Potter snapped fiercely. 

"Manners, Potter. And it doesn't matter if you were assigned it or not. Maybe if you came out of your little hidey-hole for two seconds you'd have heard about the class arrangements and been able to get the assignment. I will accept no excuses for undone assignments that could have been completed. Do you understand me?" 

"Whatever." 

"'Yes, sir,' I believe was what you meant." 

After glaring at Severus for several seconds, Potter bit out, "Yes, _sir_. Want me to curtsey while I say that?" he added nastily. 

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Potter. Thirty points from Gryffindor and I will see you tomorrow evening for your" (small laugh and an evil smirk) "Remedial Potions." 

"If I needed Remedial Potions you'd never let me in your NEWTs class!" Potter snapped. "That's the stupidest cover I have ever heard!" 

"Well we could just say you're in detention for those evenings. It wouldn't surprise anyone who knows you." 

"No," he retorted sharply. "It wouldn't surprise anyone who knows _you_. _Sir_." 

"Twenty more points, Potter, and if you don't get out of my class room this minute I'll make it a round hundred. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," Potter sneered, marching up the steps towards the door. 

Draco hurried a few steps down the hall and made as if he'd just been walking along. When Potter came out of the room, he smirked. "What brings you down here so late, Potter?" 

"Bite me, Malfoy," he snapped, shoving passed the other boy and stomping up the stairs. 

Someone's in a bad mood, he mused. Unaffected by the insult, Draco went to the hidden door and said the password. Luckily the common room was empty. No Pansy to avoid. No Crabbe and Goyle to put up with. He walked up the stairs and retrieved a clean set of robes then made his way to the prefect's bathroom. He'd by less likely to be disturbed in there. 

As he made his way through the empty halls, Draco enjoyed the hollow clicking his shoes made on the stone floor. It was echoing and comforting. After a quiet journey, he stated the pass word and walked into the spacious bathroom. Finding himself alone, as he'd expected, he set his things on the counter and moved over to the bath. He turned on the water, turning the knob that spread a Calming Solution through the water. 

Stretching his tired muscles, Draco piled his dirty robes in the bin by the door and undid his tie. His shoes, socks, pants and shirt discarded, he walked around and felt the water to make sure it was warm enough. The mermaid on the wall giggled, looking at him. 

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, pulling his underwear off and dropping them with his other clothes. "Not like it's anything you've never seen." 

Draco climbed into the hot water, sighing as he relaxed against one of the sides, his arms resting on the edge of the tub. The Calming Solution went to work quickly, bringing him to a cool feeling of sleepy happiness. The fumes from the potion mingling with the vapor of the steaming water formed a heady cloud over the tub, intoxicating Draco with relaxation. 

Sinking into the water up to his shoulders, he let his mind wander to thoughts that he'd been putting at the back of his mind for weeks. Thoughts of his father and what he would do if the man returned. It wasn't as if he was afraid of his father. More of what he would do to gain his father's favor. As much as he hated the man, he respected him, too. In just a couple years he'd be fit to be marked. 

But by then, a suggestion voiced itself in his mind, the Dark Lord may not even be in power. 

That was a consideration. Dumbledore was strong and Lucius had expressed more than once that their plans had not worked exactly as they'd been intended to. With the main body of Death Eaters locked away, was it just a matter of time before the Dark Lord was caught, or was he a few more steps ahead of the game than everyone thought? 

Draco was pulled roughly from his airy thoughts when the door to the bathroom opened. Glaring at the boy who walked in, it was only a matter of nanoseconds before his annoyance turned to out-right anger. 

"Shouldn't you be sniffing after Potter, Weasel?" he snapped. 

Weasley looked at him, glaring just as darkly. "I'll come back later." With that, the boy stormed out of the room, clearly annoyed that his own reprieve had been cut drastically short. 

Whatever emotion he had felt just a moment before melted away as the vapors attached themselves to his brain once again. The soothing scent of lavender and oatmeal that poured from the Calming Solution faucet coaxed him back into his careless state of sleepiness. 

I might as well just drown in here, he thought, moving his arms slowly through the water. At least then I wouldn't have to go home to Mother over Christmas holiday. The thought came with a frankness and a matter-of- fact air that he knew it would not have brought if he weren't up to his neck in the heated mixture. 

With another sigh, Draco let all thought escape him, lying his head back and closing his eyes. He stayed that way for nearly two hours before, grudgingly, climbing out of the water and toweling himself off, then dressing lazily, and heading to bed, the potion still in enough effect to cause him to walk benignly passed a glaring Weasley without comment.

* * *

Harry was half asleep as the rest of the table chatted happily, enjoying the food and the company. He seemed to be the only person not in bright spirits. Even the Head Table was filled with periodic laughter as the little man who was their Defense professor told stories to the other teachers. Sprout was laughing merrily about something he'd said and even McGonagall was hiding a smile behind her goblet of pumpkin juice. Rather unsuccessfully, Harry thought to himself. 

"Do you feel better after getting some sleep today?" 

"A bit. I have to meet Snape tonight, though, so I think any good it did me will be gone by the time I end up in bed." 

"Have you been practicing?" 

Harry glared at Hermione, stabbing a potato on his plate savagely. "What do you think?" he snapped. 

"Don't get snippy with me because you haven't been doing what you're suppose to." Hermione looked around. "Have you seen Ron?" 

"No," Harry answered moodily. Now he felt bad not only for himself, but because he'd been short with the only friend he seemed to have in the world. Great, he told himself. Just rack up those popularity points, why don't you? 

"I haven't seen him since Care of Magical Creatures." 

"Me neither. Maybe he got eaten by a skewrt." Harry stabbed another potato. 

Hermione just sighed and went back to eating in silence. 

An hour and a half later found Harry walking towards the dungeons once more. His shoulders were slumped as he thought about Hermione's question. Had he been practicing? Could Buckbeak fit into Mrs. Weasley's night dress? Ha! Not bloody likely. Maybe Snape accidentally poisoned himself, Harry thought hopefully. He wasn't at dinner. 

When he got to Snape's office, he knocked on the door. 

"Come in." 

Great. Aren't I the lucky one? Harry opened the door and closed it behind him. 

Snape was huddled behind his desk, reading summer essays still. He looked at Harry over the top of the paper. "Sit." When he finished the one he was on, he marked it and put it on top of the pile on the left side of his desk, then stood up. "Have you been practicing?" 

Not bothering to lie, Harry said, "No, sir. I've been a bit preoccupied." 

"Well let's just hope you're natural affinity suddenly kicks in then, shall we?" he asked nastily, taking out his wand and facing the boy. "One...two...three..." 

An hour later, his head pounding in his skull, Harry made his way down the hall to the dorms. After several unsuccessful tries and after having Snape ask several snide questions about his teary kiss with Cho in the DA room, Harry wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and die. When he crawled through the portrait hole, he came face to face with Hermione. 

"How did it go?" 

"Not now," he muttered, stepping around her, ignoring the odd looks he got from Dean and Seamus, who were sitting at a paper-covered table by the fire place. His tired, aggravated mood only heightened when he heard her firm steps following his up the stairs. Didn't he get a moment of peace? 

Pushing the dorm door open, Harry trudged over to his bed, collapsing. His wand, which was tucked in his robes, jabbed into his stomach as he fell on it. He groaned and rolled over, looking up into Hermione's eyes. 

"Harry, didn't last year teach you anything about how serious this is?" 

"I said I didn't feel like talking about it right now," he said, rolling back over on his stomach, careful of his wand. 

"When are you going to feel like talking about it? The next time Voldemort hands you some fake vision about having Remus locked up somewhere?" 

Biting back the bitter taste that rose in his mouth, Harry snapped, "Get out." 

In a softer voice she continued, "Harry, I don't want to see you or anyone else hurt. The only way to do that is to trust Dumbledore and do what he says. I don't like Snape any more than you do, but at the moment, doing what you need to involves doing what he says. He's trying to help you too--" 

"I said get out! I don't feel like talking about this. Now, or ever." 

"Harry--" 

Harry stood quickly, taller than Hermione by nearly a foot after a couple much-needed growth spurts. "I know it's my fault he died!" he yelled. "I don't need anyone to remind me of that!" 

Her cheeks turning red, Hermione yelled back, "I wasn't saying--" 

"I don't give a damn about what you were or weren't saying! Get out!" 

Tears welled in her eyes and Harry fought the urge to tell her not to kiss him again. Seeing her that upset satisfied some vindictive need he seemed to have. He _wanted_ someone to be upset. He wanted it to be Snape. He wanted to pound Snape's face into a pulp. But Snape was in his office, several floors below, chuckling about Cho's psycho mood swings, Sirius's death, and Harry's stupidity. So, Harry took his anger out on Hermione. 

"You've spent the whole summer whining after me and simpering like a sick hen, and I'm tired of it! I don't need your sympathy, I don't want your comfort, and you can take your fucking good intentions and bring them to your own fucking room! Maybe someone in there will care, but I don't. Now. Get. Out!" 

Without another word, Hermione turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

Without her hateful glare, Harry suddenly didn't feel justified in yelling at her. He felt rotten and he knew he should apologize. But he also knew if he went to see her, he would just get mad and start yelling again, so he settled for just sinking onto the bed and burying his face in his hands. 

Everything was such a mess. Life would be so much easier if he were just someone else.

* * *

There was a little shuffling of papers and the groan of wood as weight shifted on the oak chair. 

A sigh. 

More papers ruffling and being slid together. 

And another sigh. 

Severus looked up from the essays he was organizing. "Draco, is there something the matter?" 

"No," he snapped too quickly. Of course there was something the matter. It was day two of the new school year and it didn't seem like it was going to be any better than day one. In an attempt to get away from Crabbe and Goyle asking his advice about Millicent, Draco had retreated to Severus's office. As he checked off his facts for the DA quiz they were having the next day, he'd grown restless. 

The need to talk to someone had been there for years and it was just now really coming to the surface. And here was Severus, the best person in the world to talk to. But still, Draco didn't dare. He just couldn't make himself open up to the man. 

Instead of making a comment about not sighing so loudly if he wasn't trying to get someone's attention ( which Draco knew he was wanting to make), Severus just returned to his papers. 

That day's classes had gone by fairly easily. Nothing too new. Just orientation for his new electives and reviews from OWLs for regular classes. Now, with dinner behind him (another painful ordeal that involved being sandwiched between his two friends and their sordid love issues), he was curled up in the wingback chair near the fire. 

"I think I should be getting to bed. Thanks for letting me come in here." 

"You're welcome, Draco. The door is always open, should you feel the need to use it." 

Nodding, Draco stood up. As he piled his books into his bag there was a sharp knock on the door. 

"Who is it?" Severus called irritably. 

"It's me." 

Potter? Draco wondered, slowing his pace, hoping he would hear some more of their conversation from the previous night. Now that he wasn't in a potion-induced haze, the fact that Remedial Potions was a cover struck him as more than mildly interesting. 

"Come in. What do you want?" 

"I needed to ask you--" Potter stopped when he saw Draco, narrowing his eyes at the boy. 

Matching his glare, Draco shoved his last book into his bag. 

"What?" Severus prompted impatiently. 

"Professor Dumbledore told me to see you about borrowing a book." 

Recollection lighting in his eyes, the man stood and walked towards the door at the back of his office that led to his private rooms. "Wait there." 

"Something for that Remedial Potions, eh, Potter?" Draco asked, smirking. 

"Yeah, that's right," he answered in a tired voice. 

Bored already with Potter's lack of fight, Draco picked up his bag and pushed by him to the door, his shoulder slamming into the other boy's. Just as he was about to open the door, he was shoved hard from behind, dropping his bag as he hit the door. He whirled around. 

"Watch where you're going," Harry snapped. 

"You aren't worth it today, Potter." He tried to push by him again, but was knocked back into Severus's desk. "Move." 

"I'm not in your way. You can walk around me." 

"Bite me," Draco replied. 

"In your sick dreams, Malfoy." 

Smirking, Draco said, "I wouldn't want you anywhere near me. Probably haven't even had your shots, you worthless, unwanted mutt. You're just like Black. You know what they say. They only good dog, is a dead dog --" 

Caught off guard when Harry's fist connected with his jaw, Draco was thrown back into the desk. Standing back up, he lunged at the other boy. Months of anger came out as he punched him. 

It seemed that Potter was using his own wells of suppressed rage as he kneed Draco in the stomach as hard as he could. 

Holding his gut and gasping with pain, Draco rolled off Harry, bumping into the work table that stood against the office wall. When he'd gotten himself back together, Draco stood up and tried to punch Harry, but the throw was caught and in their struggle for dominance, they both toppled into the table, knocking several vial of purple liquid out of a rack and onto the floor. 

"Shit," Harry said, jumping back. The potion from the shattered containers was dripping down the front of his shirt and cover his hands and arms. 

Draco's own robes were covered. Small splashes of it had covered his face in lavender dots. Trying to wipe it out of his eyes, he only managed to smear the thick liquid over his cheeks and nose. 

"Here it--What the hell were you two doing?" Severus's angry voice erupted from the back of the room. Still squinting, Draco tried to find something to tell him where he was, but only managed to lean on Harry, who shoved him again. 

"Both of you hold still, now!" Severus did a quick cleaning spell. "Does it burn anywhere?" 

"No, I just can't see," Draco answered, not sure if he was the one being spoken to or not. 

"Hmm. Have either of you swallowed any of this?" 

"No, sir," Harry's voice came from the other side of the room. 

Draco shook his head. 

"Lucky for you this isn't a dangerous potion. Just the Switching Solution you made in class. As long as you haven't swallowed any of it, it should have no effect on you. Potter, take your book and go get cleaned up. I will inform you of when your detention is. And fifty points from Gryffindor for fighting." 

With a low, annoyed groan, Harry left the room. 

"And you, come with me." Severus grabbed the collar of Draco's robes and led through the rooms. There was the sound of running water. "Hold still." A wet cloth was rubbed over his face with a brisk care. 

He felt ridiculous, having Severus cleaning him up as if he were a child, but he didn't dare open his eyes with the potion all over his face. 

"There." Tossing the cloth in the sink, he turned to Draco with a stern glare. "That will be twenty points from Slytherin and you will serve detention with me tomorrow night. I have some potions I could use help with ." 

"Yes, sir." Still feeling humiliated, Draco picked up his bag, careful not to let it touch his robes, which were still covered in Switching Solution, then walked down to the common room. He got a few raised eyebrows as he walked through and headed up the stairs to the bathroom, but no one said anything. 

Cleaned up and in his pajamas, Draco climbed into bed. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Stretching and yawning, he covered his mouth, his finger tips brushing his lips lightly. He fell back on his bed, his eyes closing as exhaustion took him off into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Harry, are you--" 

"Don't, Neville," he said in a defeated voice, closing the door behind him. The other three boys just looked at him and his potion-soaked robes. "Please, just don't." 

Dropping the book on his bed, Harry stripped his outer robes off and tossed them in the laundry bin near the door. He padded into the bathroom, showered quickly, then walked back out into the room, a towel around his waist. Harry rummaged through his drawers until he found the pajama set he was looking for and returned to the bathroom to get dressed. He wasn't shy, being very use to changing and showering in front of others, especially since he'd been on the Quidditch team. He was just painfully aware of the way his roommates were still staring at him after his odd entrance. 

Dried and dressed, Harry crawled into bed and pulled the hangings closed around him, blocking any more conversation. He laid his head on his pillow and sat back up quickly as pain shot through his brain. He'd thumped the back of his skull right down on the thick Occlumency book Snape had given him to borrow. 

"Ouch!" A deep growl of annoyance escaped his throat as he threw the book through the hangings, hearing it land with a satisfyingly loud bang on the floor somewhere near the door. 

It was a while before he closed his eyes, turning his face into the soft, warm pillow. He sighed contently in his sleep as his dreams deepened to blackness. 

TBC 


	2. The Plot Thickens

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

Stretching and yawning like he always did when he first woke up, Draco rolled over onto his side, pulling the blankets farther up around his shoulders. It was far too early to get up. He opened his eyes and started. Everything was blurry. That potion must have done something to him. Damn it! he thought. "Vince? Greg?" he called in a thick voice. There was no answer. He was left to stumble out of the dorm, half blind, all on his own. 

Figures. This is my luck, he thought bitterly. Swinging his legs out of the bed, he yelped with pain as the side of his foot whacked into something hard. That didn't make any sense. His night table was on the other side of the bed. 

Squinting around the room, Draco noticed something else that didn't seem right. There was too much light. The room was never lit this much in the morning because the narrow windows were on the west side of the castle. 

"Bed hangings," he muttered. I can't be in the hospital wing. Where could I-- 

_Have either of you swallowed any of this?_

"Oh, God, no," he moaned. I can't be... 

Feeling around the top of the night table, Draco's fingers knocked several things over and onto the floor. Where does he put his glasses? he thought franticly. If that Solution worked then I have to find them-- 

A door to his right opened. "You're gonna be late for class," Weasley's deadpan voice came from somewhere in the room. 

"I can't find, umm, my glasses," he said. 

With an annoyed sigh, Weasley walked over to him. The cool frames were shoved into his hand. "They were right where you always leave them." 

"Oh," Draco muttered, putting them on. "Thanks." The world came into focus and his first instinct was to yell at the first person he saw that he must see Severus and that everything was Potter's fault. However, he suddenly realized where he was--deep in the heart of Gryffindor Land. Wouldn't they just be unbearable if they knew a Slytherin was there? 

Deciding, for his own safety, that playing along would be best, Draco just nodded a little and stood up. He had to find where Potter kept his clothes... He looked up when he noticed Weasley still staring at him. " What do you want?" he snapped. 

"Nothing." With that, the red-head walked out of the room. 

After a few seconds of looking, he thought, What do I care if people see the Boy Wonder wandering around the castle in his sleep things? Without bothering to get dressed, Draco opened the door and walked down the stairs. The common room was empty...with one exception. Granger. 

Draco tried to scoot out the door, but the annoying Mudblood was on him before he could get half way there. 

"Harry--" 

"Now isn't a good time," he said, trying to side-step her. 

Hermione put her hands on his arms and held him still, looking up into his eyes. "No, Harry, listen. _Please_." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about the other day. I know you're going through a lot and I shouldn't have mentioned Sirius like that, but it just gets really hard tip-toeing around you so much. You blow up at the slightest thing and I hate seeing you like this." Tears were in her eyes, but they didn't fall. "I meant it when I said I loved you--" 

Whoa, Draco thought. That is more than I wanted to hear. Putting his hands up, he said, "Really! Now is _not_ a good--" 

"I meant it when I said I loved you," she repeated, raising her voice over his. "I did. You're my best friend and I want to help you if I can. Please don't push me away." 

Sighing, completely at loss for words, he just shook his head. What should I do? What would Potter do? He'd probably do something sappy and Gryffindor. "It means a lot to hear you say that, Hermione," he said in what he hoped was a convincing voice. "But can we talk later? I really need to go. I--My scar started hurting really bad and I have to tell Dumbledore." 

The girl's eyes darkened. "Shouldn't you get dressed first?" 

"No, actually, I have to go right now." He tried to get by her again. 

"Was it like that time with Mr. Weasley?" 

"Umm, yeah. Just like that," he said, nodding. 

"Harry, it could just be Voldemort--" 

Draco winced at the name. 

"--trying to get you to do something...rash." 

"That's why I have to tell Dumbledore. He'll know what to do. Now please, let go of me." 

With a sigh of resignation, she stepped aside. "Just be careful." 

"Sure," Draco replied over his shoulder. Not looking where he was going, he caught his foot in the edge of the wall and fell forward on his face in the hallway. 

"Harry! Are you OK?" 

"What the..." They have to climb over part of the wall to get in and out of their common room? How stupid! he thought. "I'm fine." He stood up, his cheeks flushed with annoyance as he backed away from Hermione. "I'm fine," he repeated. 

Several students who were walking by to get to classes in the upper halls looked at him, some of them sniggering Slytherins. Bet I'm a right sight, he mused. Famous Harry Potter stumbling around in his PJs like a drunken idiot. At least it's his reputation I'm ruining-- 

"Oh no!" he yelled suddenly, turning and running for the stairs. He slid a little in his stocking feet, but caught himself on the banister and bolted down the stairs. If I'm here, then Potter's in _my_ body!

* * *

Harry sat up a little and tugged the blankets back down to cover his feet. Why were they so cold? After a moment he realized he wasn't wearing any socks. He always wore socks to bed. It was a habit from living in that drafty cupboard. Instead of getting up, he curled his legs up to his chest. When the cool fabric of the silk sleep pants brushed his bare stomach he nearly jumped. He wasn't wearing a shirt either! He _never_ slept without a shirt! 

Wrapping the blankets tightly around him, he reached out and pulled the hangings back. The first thing he saw was a large, round, rear end sticking up in the air. "What the..." 

"A can't find my other shoe," a slow, dull voice said from the other side of the butt. 

"You, you what?" he gasped. The room, it was different. It wasn't his. There was green and silver, and dark mahogany... 

Crabbe stood and looked at Harry. 

Startled once more, Harry yelled. I'm half dressed in the Slytherin dorm! They drugged me! I've been drugged and-- 

"Draco, you OK?" 

"No! Leave me--What did you say?" 

The boy's jaw hung slack and he looked like a stupid gorilla trying to figure out a difficult math problem. He had one shoe on his foot and his tie was lopsided. "I asked if you were OK." 

"You called me Draco." 

"Umm, yeah?" 

Horrified, Harry jumped up, clutching the blankets around him, and waddled to the bathroom across the room as best he could with the folds of slippery fabric bunched at his feet. Oh no, oh no, oh no... 

Stopping in front of the mirror, he dropped the blanket in shock. There was his face, but it wasn't him. It was Draco. Draco's wide, petrified, grey eyes were staring back at him. When he lifted his slender hand and ran pale fingers over his pink-tinged cheeks, they were Draco's fingers and Draco's cheeks. 

The potion, he thought. But how? I never swallowed any of it! I have to get out of here. Dumbledore will know what to do. I have to tell him what happened. But for now, I'm in the Slytherin dorms. The Boy Who Lived might become the Boy Who Died real fast, Harry mused with a small amount of irony. He had to get out of there without anyone knowing he wasn't Draco. 

"Did you find my shoe?" Crabbe called to him. 

"N-no. It's not in here." First off, he told himself, Draco wouldn't be clutching his blankets around him. If he normally sleeps like this he must be use to it. 

Harry was very much reminded of the advice session he and Ron had exchanged after taking the Polyjuice Potion, trying to get Crabbe and Goyle's actions and mannerisms just right before questioning Draco. But that was a long time ago and it brought back angry memories of the way he'd treated Ron over the summer, so he pushed the thought aside. 

With his back straight, Harry walked back out into the room. A shirt. He needed a shirt. "Do you, umm, know where my shirt is?" he asked casually. 

"In your dresser?" Crabbe asked. 

"Yeah, of course." Which dresser is his? He looked around and saw one with a stack of Potions books on top of it. That would be it, he thought. Walking over, he pulled open the drawer and was hardly surprised to see mostly silk boxers. I have to put on Malfoy's _underwear_, he thought. His stomach flopped over. 

Closing his eyes, he chose a pair. But to put them on he would have to see Malfoy naked. And touch his body... "Get a grip," he told himself. Looking up, he noticed Crabbe and Goyle were staring at him. "What are you looking at?" he snapped. 

"You were talking to yourself," Goyle said. 

"So?" Deciding he didn't want to get dressed in _anyone's_ body with those two gawking at him, he took the boxers and pulled a pair of trousers and a shirt out of the next drawer, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door. Careful not to look into any mirrors as he took the pants off, Harry pulled on the boxer with his head turned up at an uncomfortable angle so he wouldn't see anything he didn't feel right about seeing. From there, he finished dressing quickly, just looping the tie over his shoulders. Malfoy could do up his own damn tie after Dumbledore sorted this out. 

That wasn't so hard, he thought, walking back into the room. Not bothering with robes, he opened the door and left Crabbe and Goyle staring. The common room was full of students in various states of dress and conversation. 

"Draco, can I talk to you for a minute?" 

Oh no, Harry thought for the millionth time as Pansy Parkinson walked towards him. "I can't right now. I have to go see Snape. It's really--" 

"I'll only be a minute. He won't mind if you're a few seconds late." She batted long lashes at him. 

I have to be Draco. Draco would never pass up a chance to talk to Pansy just to be on time to see Snape, he reasoned. "Umm, ok. But only for a second." 

Smiling, Pansy took his hand and led him out of the common room and down the hall, away from the stairs. They went to a small cove where she stood, still holding his hand. "Draco, I was thinking the other night. About you. And me. Us." 

Oh no. 

"I really hate seeing you so sad. Most of the others don't see it. They think you're just being yourself, but I know you." She rested her hand on his chest and leaned against him, bringing her lips close to Harry's ear. Far too close to Harry's ear... "I know you better than you know yourself. And I know what you need." 

"You know, that's really...umm, nice. Thank you," he stammered, knowing he didn't sound anything like Draco's cool, put together self. He tried to move away from her a little, but only managed to bump his head on the wall. "But I really have to go. Whatever I need, could you, umm, save it, and give it to me later, maybe?" 

Smiling a little more, Pansy kissed him gently, her full lips working on his. She ran the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip slowly before pulling away slightly, her body still pressed flush with his. The hand she'd been resting on his chest slid down, settling on his hip. She leaned into him again, her lips parting as they met his, her teeth nibbling at his already swollen lips. She took half a step back, her lips, pink from the kiss, curved in a smile. "OK, Draco. I can wait til later. But only if you promise." 

That wasn't how Cho or Hermione kissed. His face burning, Harry forced himself to smile. "Yeah, promise," he breathed weakly. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was sure people up in the Astronomy Tower could have heard it. 

"You're cute when you blush, Draco." She brushed a quick kiss over his swollen lips and walked away, the skirt of her uniform swishing behind her. 

"Oh, my God," he muttered, slumping against the wall.

* * *

Draco grabbed the pole of the banister when he got to the bottom of the stairs, sliding around, then took a couple slippery steps before he was off and running down the hall. As late as it was, there were several more students to stare, point, and laugh. 

Paying no attention to the people around him, Draco flung himself around the corner, only two flights of stairs left to go, when he ran headlong into someone, making both of them fall heavily on the floor. Looking up, he saw a very angry McGonagall, who had just stepped out of the teacher's lounge. 

Her neat bun was slightly askew and her glasses had been knocked crooked. "Potter! You have two seconds to explain your careless actions! And your dress! That is entirely inappropriate!" 

Does this get any worse? he thought. Offering to help her up, Draco apologized as quickly as he could. "I just needed to see Professor Snape. It's an emergency. Really. I'm sorry, but I--" 

"Nothing is important enough for you to be running around the school at this time of day in those clothes!" Brushing herself off, she seemed to rethink what she'd just said. "Is it anything Professor Dumbledore should be made aware of?" 

"No," Draco said, too quickly. 

Her lips pursed, she took hold of his shirt sleeve and pulled him up the hall. "Follow me, Mr. Potter." 

"No, really, I'm sure if I could just see Se--Snape, it would be fine!" 

But she wouldn't hear a word of it. McGonagall brought him down passed several groups of giggling second years. 

A shocked Ginny Weasley stared for a moment before calling, "All right, Harry?" 

"He's fine, Miss Weasley," McGonagall snapped for him. 

Well, Draco reasoned as they walked up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, I'll just tell him what happened and then he'll go to Severus. It accomplishes the ends that need to be accomplished. 

"Albus, it's me." 

The door opened and Draco nearly yelled when he saw who was having tea with the headmaster. Smiling amiably, Remus Lupin nodded towards Draco with uncertainty in his eyes. "Hi, Harry." 

"Is anything the matter?" 

"He seemed to think there was something important enough to running through the castle dressed like _this_," the woman answer curtly. "There had better be something the matter." 

"Yes, miss Granger just barely left," Dumbledore said. "She said your scar was hurting you and that you had seen something else." 

"Well, about that..." What was he suppose to do now? He couldn't lie. But he couldn't tell the truth. "I just had a bad dream. Threw me off a little. And a headache. Nothing to do with my scar." 

"And that's why you were acting like Voldemort himself was chasing you down the hall?" 

"I was suppose to meet Professor Snape for, umm, Potions help. The Remedial Potions, and all. I was having a hard time in class yesterday." 

This excuse didn't prompt the response he'd expected. Maybe they wouldn't believe him, or maybe they would yell at him and take off point for his conduct. He expected that. The shocked look in Lupin's eyes and the dark concern in Dumbledore's wasn't at all what he thought he would see. 

"I'll leave him to you," McGonagall said seriously. "I'll supervise breakfast." She walked briskly from the room, closing the door firmly behind her. 

"Is the Occlumency going badly?" Lupin asked. 

"The Occ--Yeah," he said, nodding. Where he didn't have any idea what they were talking about, he figured he should just nod and agree. "Really bad. I was, umm, thinking of dropping it." 

This, too, prompted a response he hadn't been anticipating. 

"Harry, you can't," Lupin said sternly. "I know you don't like Severus, but you need to do this. If last year was any indication of--" 

"Remus," Dumbledore said softly, looking at the shabby man with an expression that clearly said he was heading in the wrong direction. Taking over the persuasion, he turned to Draco. "Harry, Severus has come to me with complaints about your lack of practice. You must take this more seriously. I could go into the reasons why, but I believe you know them better than most." 

"Yes, sir," was all he could say. Draco, while focusing on the conversation, was still stuck on the Occlumency. So that's what Severus was doing spending so much time with Potter. That made a little more sense than trying to make anyone who knew the moody potions master believe he would take an ignorant, arrogant Gryffindor into his NEWTs class when he needed to be tutored. But if Severus was doing it...Didn't Dumbledore know he was a Death Eater? Letting Severus be alone with Harry in a weakened mental state was not a very smart move. Unless Dumbledore did, indeed, know that Severus was a Death Eater... Draco's head began to spin. He had a feeling he was starting to figure things out that he did not want to know. 

Lupin moved closer to Draco and put his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. Draco's skin was crawling at the contact and he barely suppressed the urge to shove the disgusting creature away. Werewolves were evil! 

"Harry, promise me you'll try harder. Please. I know we ask a lot of you, but this is something you have to do, even if you say no to everything else. Please, Harry." 

"O-OK. Can I go now?" 

"Harry," he said, his ember eyes burning with intensity as he looked into Draco's, "promise me. Please." 

"I promise," he said with convincing sincerity. He was very use to lying and this was probably one of the easiest lies he'd ever had to sell because Lupin wanted to believe him so badly. Draco's lie was rewarded by an encouraging smile. 

"I know how it must be. I've had to deal with him, too. If you need to talk, or complain, owl me. Just don't let Severus get to you too much." 

"I'll remember that." 

"Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, Harry?" Dumbledore was looking at him from behind his spectacles, his blue eyes clear and concerned. 

"No. Sir. Thank you. Umm, bye." He took a half-step away from Lupin before realizing that Harry would probably give him a hug, or something else equally as stupid. Shoving aside his discomfort, Draco leaned forward and hugged Lupin quickly before turning and fleeing from the room. As he walked down the stairs he wiped his hands on his pant legs furiously. Eww, eww, eww! Wolf germs. 

"Hi, Harry. I like your pajamas." 

Draco looked up, his lip curling in annoyance. It was that nutty Ravenclaw girl. Of course Potter would be friends with her. "Thanks," he said, walking away. He just hugged a werewolf for the sake of appearances, that didn't mean he had to take part in a psychotic conversation with that loon. 

Half way back in the direction of the dungeons, Draco stopped. He couldn't go to Severus. If Severus was working for Dumbledore he'd know that Draco knew and that would be very bad. That would be very, _very_ bad. He'll worry that I'd tell my father. And he wouldn't risk being found out by the Dark Lord for anything. The danger would be too great for Lucius Malfoy's son to know something like this without consequences...What can I do now? 

Potter, he thought. I have to find Potter before he tells anyone! Taking off at a dead run once again, Draco headed for the stairs down to the lower halls just as the warning bell rang, signaling that there was only ten minutes until first period started.

* * *

"OK, get a grip," Harry muttered, pushing away from the wall, his legs shaky. Now that he was over the fact that Pansy Parkinson had not only kissed him, but _licked_ him, he was ready to go to Dumbledore and face whatever punishment this would bring. 

It's not like I did it on purpose, he mused, coming to the bottom of the steps. Just as he began his journey up, his jaw dropped. There he was--well, there his body was, in pajamas, running down the stairs right for him. 

"Potter, we have to talk!" Draco grabbed his arm and started to drag him off. 

"Oh no! The last time I followed a Slytherin when they said that I got mauled! We're going to Dumbledore- -" 

"No! I was just in his office. We can't!" 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Why not?" 

"Look, I'll explain later, but right now--" 

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything too important." 

Both boys looked over to see Snape walking towards them. The man eyed Draco's undressed state and smirked. "Bit eager to get to class, Potter?" 

"No, sir. I just, umm, I'm not feeling well. I think Draco should walk me to the hospital wing." 

"I think not, Potter. Fifteen points for inappropriate uniform and," he turned his gaze on Harry, "Mr. Malfoy, your tie." 

"Oh." Harry hastened to do up his tie, but stopped. "You didn't take any points off Slytherin for inappropriate uniform!" 

"You aren't running around the halls in your bed clothes." 

"I don't even have my work robes on!" 

"Then I suggest you go to your room and get them." 

The bell to signal the start of class rang. "And that's another ten from Gryffindor for being late, Potter. Draco, hurry up." Without looking at them, Snape swept by and through the class room door, closing it behind him firmly. 

"You can't _ask_ him to take points off Slytherin!" Draco yelled, shoving Harry in the arm. "Are you stupid?" 

"Quite shoving me, Malfoy! We're going to Dumbledore--" 

"We can't!" he said, grabbing Harry's arm once more to hold him in his spot. "Look, just go in there, tell Snape you're sick and you need the day off classes. He'll write you a note. I'll go up and whine to Pomfrey about my scar and get a note off for the day. Then we can meet and have a talk." 

"I don't want to talk to you. I don't know how you did this, but it's your fault--" 

"Would you shut up!" Draco groaned in exasperation. Harry noticed for the first time how truly messy his hair was, especially when it had obviously not been touched with a brush. 

"Do you mind if I ask why you didn't even bother getting dressed? At least I'm not parading your body around the school in your night clothes!" 

Taking a deep breath, Draco pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. "Look, Potter. I don't like this any more than you do. Believe me. But I just can't go to Snape. You can't go to Dumbledore. I'll explain, but not here." 

"What can't you say it here? It's not like there's anyone to hear us." He crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Fine. Like I said, I've already been dragged up to Dumbledore's office by McGonagall. Lupin was there. They were concerned about your Occlumency lessons--" 

"Shh!" Harry hissed, looking around to make sure no one could over hear him. What was Draco trying to do? 

"I thought you wanted to talk here," Draco smirked. 

"Fine, I'll get a note! But don't give the scar excuse. Pomfrey'll just put you in a bed and call Professor Dumbledore. Say I..." Harry thought for a moment. Well, he was in a depressed enough mood to just not have gotten out of bed. But people had already seen him up. But not dressed. "Look, just go back up to the common room. There won't be anyone there right now." 

"Why should I say you were out of class?" 

"They already think I'm going nutters. If they ask, just say I didn't feel like it." 

Draco smirked even more. "The Boy Wonder--" 

Shaking his head, annoyed, Harry snapped, "Will you just go?" 

"What's the pass word?" 

"_Retrouver_." 

"Real original," Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

"I'll be up soon." 

"All right. Just don't let anyone see me going in the Gryffindor common room. That wouldn't be good for my image, if you know what I mean." 

"Like you give a damn about what you're doing to _my_ image." 

"Hey, you admit they already think you're going nutters. _I'm_ just keeping in character." 

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was weird enough that he was taking cheek in his current mood, but the fact that he was taking it from _himself_ was nearly the last straw. "Whatever, Malfoy." 

"And stop calling me that. I'm Harry Potter remember?" 

Shaking his head, Harry opened the class door to meet several questioning stares. For anyone to be late to Snape's class was odd. However, when they saw that it was just Draco Malfoy, everyone went back to what they were doing. Walking to the front of the room, he risked a glance at Hermione. The concern in her eyes as she looked back behind him at the door for signs of Harry was nearly heart-breaking. Well, Harry's body... He shook his head. This was too confusing. 

"Umm, sir?" 

Looking up from his papers, Snape raised an eyebrow at him and said quietly, "What is it, Draco?" 

"I, umm, I..." His nervousness showing through easily, Harry really didn't believe getting Snape to agree to anything could be as simple as asking. "I was wondering if I could miss classes today. I don't feel well." 

Snape's eyes darkened. "Did you eat anything this morning?" 

"No, sir." 

His voice quiet, kept between the two of them, he said, "Go get something to eat and lie down. I expect to see you at lunch. You've been skipping meals too much and I won't make you any more excuses for missing class over something as foolish as self-induced malnourishment. Am I clear?" 

"Yes, sir. Thank you." 

Walking back up towards the door, Harry almost couldn't believe it had been that easy. Just as he stretched his hand out for the door knob, Snape's voice carried up the steps, "I do still expect to see you in my office at seven." 

"Yes, sir," he answered, opening the door and stepping out into the safety of the hall. He was free. And by seven, they would be switched back and whatever that had meant he wouldn't even have to concern himself with. Sighing, feeling a little more at ease, Harry strode up the steps, anxious to get this show with Draco over so they could go to Dumbledore and get changed back.

* * *

Back up in the dorm, alone, and able to see properly, Draco took the opportunity to look through the items scattered around the room. There were several potted plants on the window sill on one side of the room. There were Muggle pictures on the wall above one bed, and Quidditch posters about another. Potter's bed was free of any sign of person contact with the acceptation of a tipped over glass of water and a soggy box of tissues. 

As boring as a dust rag, he thought. Wonder what's in his trunk. Well, it is _my_ trunk, Draco reasoned, walking over and opening the lid. It wasn't even locked. How cute. Trusting Gryffindors. 

Pawing through the clothes, Draco found little more than over-sized Muggle rags. There were several spell books, a mirror wrapped carefully in packing paper (oddly vain for the messy-haired boy), several DADA texts that weren't required for the year, and a small stack of letters from various Weasley's, Granger, Lupin, Hagrid, and someone called Snuffles. 

Rummaging to the other side of the trunk, he found a couple pairs of holey socks (one with a Sneakoscope shoved in it--which was spinning and humming wildly) and several Quidditch magazines. Nothing dirty though, he mused. Odd for a boy of his age not to have a few editions of _Bewitched_ tucked under his spare underwear. "Truly the Golden Boy of Gryffindor," he muttered. 

He moved his search to the dressers that lined the wall. Beginning in the first, he opened the top drawer of each one, looking for anything of interest. He didn't bother with the other drawers--anything worth borrowing, or taking all together, would have been right in the top. 

Other than an old copy of _Love Potions_, a magazine Draco himself had a few copies of tucked under the corner of his mattress, there was nothing to be seen. Too bad I have that one, too, he mused, shoving the book back in the drawer, the half-dressed witch on the front winking at him as he piled socks back on top of her. He'd bet anything this wasn't Harry's dresser. 

Just as he closed the drawer and stood back up, Draco heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Preparing to be the "nutters" Harry Potter, he picked up the first book he found--a thick Occlumency volume lying on the floor --and settled himself on the bed. 

When Harry opened the door, Draco let out a girlish squeal, "Oh! There's a Slytherin in my bed room! Help me! Help me!" 

"Shut up!" Harry snapped, snatching the book away from him and putting it in the top drawer of the dresser to the right of the one with the magazine. 

I'm always right, he mused. Always in the top drawer. Draco sat up. "Everything all right?" 

"Yeah." Harry sat on the bed beside his and let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a while. "What did you hear in Dumbledore's office?" 

"Nothing too much. Just that you were taking Occlumency lessons with Snape. That would be odd in itself, except for the fact that you're covering them up as Potions tutoring sessions." He raised an eyebrow at the boy, then continued talking, "I mentioned dropping it and Lupin and Dumbledore threw a fit. They asked me something about seeing visions, or something, but I got out of it. That's about it, except for the fact that now I seem to know something I shouldn't and I'm not going to Snape and telling him that, since that something has to do with him." 

"What could you have learned about Snape that would make you so afraid of him? He seems to like you a lot." 

"You don't know?" 

Harry was quiet for a minute. 

It was weird watching his own brow crease in a way that he wouldn't normally make it. That sort of thing gave you wrinkles. Draco crinkled up his nose. "Would you stop that? I have sensitive skin." 

"Stop what?" 

"Wrinkling up my face. You can do it with yours all you like, but don't give me wrinkles." 

"Oh, God, this is so screwed up," he moaned, falling back on the bed. After a second he said, "I know a few things about Snape." 

When nearly a minute went by in silence, neither one of them wanting to say too much, Draco sighed. "Look, you have things you don't want me to know, and I have things I don't want you to know. Let's just agree not to tell anyone. It will take me maybe two days to put together the antidote, and then we can get things back to normal." 

Harry sat up. "No way. There are way too many things you could over hear--" 

"Potter, it's not like I work for the Dark Lord!" 

"For all you say," he retorted. 

"Check my arm. You won't find anything." 

His face turning slightly green around the edges, Harry shook his head. There was obviously something very disturbing to him about being in a body marked with _Mordesmor_. Turning the sleeve up, he muttered, "I would have noticed if it were there." Even so, he still seemed to feel the need to check. 

"See? Nothing. If anything, I should be offended at being stuck in this body with the Dark Lord's mark right on my forehead!" 

"That's not his mark!" Harry snapped, his gray eyes flashing dangerously. 

"Look, we're both in awkward positions. So just agree to keep things quiet and we'll only be like this for a couple days. If not, we'll both have to go through a huge hassle about what we saw or heard. I don't plan on mentioning your lessons with Severus if you don't...Well, mention anything bad you find out about me." 

"Like the fact that you have sex with Pansy Parkinson on a regular basis?" he sneered with disgust. 

Scowling, Draco said, "Pansy and I haven't been together for over a year." His eyes widening, Draco jumped to his feet. "You better not have had sex with that cow with my body!" he yelled. 

"Well, no," Harry said slowly. "She did kiss me. A couple times." 

"And you liked it." 

"Hardly! Have you ever been _licked_ by a Slyther--Never mind," he mumbled. 

After studying him for a moment, Draco burst out laughing. He knew perfectly well how Pansy could be. He'd probably made the mistake of trying to be nice to her, or telling her to go away. The only way to get away from that girl was by not responding at all. She was like a viper. If you so much as twitched, she'd strike. 

"It's not funny! I get molested by Pansy Parkison and you're laughing at me!" 

"You probably were asking for it. Bet you did like it." Smirking, he said, "Or maybe you didn't. Maybe you would have preferred if someone else with a little more muscle molested you. Maybe someone with a little less chest--" 

"I am not gay, Malfoy!" Harry snapped defensively, standing and pacing to the other side of the room. 

That sent Draco into more gales of laughter. For all the problems the situation could be, it was turning out to be the best distraction he'd had since the end of the previous year. "I don't have anything against _your kind_, Potter," he said once he'd stopped laughing, "just leave my body out of it." 

"Hahaha," he said flatly. "Now can we talk about the formalities of how we're going to get through the two days you need to make that potion?" 

"Simple. You don't do anything too stupid and I'll play down how smart I am." 

"I mean, you have something to do with Snape tonight at seven?" 

All the humor left the boy's thin face. "My detention." He stood up and started pacing, too. "You can't help him with those potions! You'd end up killing both of you." 

"Yeah, genius. And I have Occlumency tomorrow. You can't very well go, unless you're proficient in it. If not, he'll get into your mind and know you're not me!" He thought for a moment. "And if you were profficent in it, that would probably make him more suspicious." 

"We have to get out of it. OK, 'you' can have a scar-fit right before your lesson--" 

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't have fits! If I did they would just drag you up to Dumbledore and expect you to start spouting out stuff about how you knew Voldemort's--" He stopped, seeming to realize he was about to say something he shouldn't. "The scar thing won't work." 

"Fine. I'll just...refuse to go." 

"No you can't." 

"Sure I can. Why not?" 

"You have to go. If not, Remus and everyone else will get on my case!" 

"Well, when you pop back into your body you can have a sudden change of heart. But, until then, I'm not going." 

Harry glared at him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. And what am I suppose to do about tonight?" 

For the first time in the conversation Draco was stumped. "Say you're still sick." 

Harry shook his head. "He told me that wasn't a good enough excuse." 

"Well, go, just keep him away from the potions." 

"Yeah," he sneered sarcastically. (Do I really look like that when I'm being nasty? Draco wondered.) "I'll just dive at his ankles every time he tries to get near the work bench. Nothing suspicious in _that_!" 

Draco bit his lip, thinking hard about the situation. He did know one way to keep Severus's mind off the potions and out of danger, but that would be a huge personal sacrifice. And it would mean letting Harry ham up the "Daddy in prison" routine. Kill Severus, or look childish? Sighing, Draco said, "There is one thing you could do that would save you from killing yourselves. But this is under the same understanding that everything that happens between now and the time we take the antidote is forgotten as soon as we're back to normal. Right?" 

Harry nodded. 

Nodding, Draco sighed again. "OK. Tell him you want to talk about my father." 

"What about him?" 

"Say you're upset about Father being locked up and you just need someone to talk to. Give him a line about thinking of him as a second father, or whatever you want. Just keep him talking. He'd leave his work til later if he really thought I needed to talk to him," he finished softly. 

After a few minutes of silence, Harry said, "You sure it'll work?" 

"Yeah. But if you make me start crying, I swear I will kill you." 

"Fine. Miss Daddy, no tears. Got it." 

"Don't call him Daddy." Draco thought for a moment. "And try not to sound like you miss him _too_ much. Father and I don't get along very well all the time." 

"So why should he believe that you want to talk about missing him, if you don't?" 

"Look, you're good at playing up the sympathy. Just do that." 

Harry's pale cheeks tinged pink. "I do not--" 

"Oh, and call him Severus. If you call him Professor or anything like that when you're alone he'll know something's not right. You know, you should really leave. You'll get the crap kicked out of you if any Gryffindors come back." 

He lingered for a moment, obviously wanting to say something more. "What's the Slytherin pass word?" 

"_Cambius Morteous_." 

"I don't think I know that one." 

"You wouldn't. It's the name of a death potion." 

Harry just nodded and walked out of the room.

* * *

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was going to walk in there, and go over to the Slytherin table, sit down, and eat something. If he was going to drag Snape away from his work on purpose (and with a plan that he really didn't think would work) he wanted the man to be as happy with him as possible before hand. And that meant eating. So, he was going to walk in there and go over to the Slytherin table... 

Suddenly shoved from behind, Harry turned and glared behind him. "Watch where you're going," he sneered. When he saw it was Ron who'd run into him, his scowl deepened. 

"You were the one standing the middle of the doorway, ferret," Ron replied, walking around him and making his way over to the table. He sat between Dean and Neville. 

Anger swelled inside him. With a smirk, he remembered that he could be mean. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. The world bowed at his feet. Straightening his shoulders, Harry strode into the room with all the confidence he could muster. Spotting Crabbe and Goyle, he figured that was the most likely spot he would be sitting in. As he walked up the table, Pansy's voice floated to his ears. 

"Draco, come sit with me. It's been forever since we've eaten lunch together." 

And the flaw shows itself, he thought. With a sigh, he sat on the bench beside her. "Thanks." 

"I didn't think you'd want to sit with them. All they talk about anymore is Millie and, as much as I love her, that's a pretty boring subject." 

"You said it." The bowl in front of him suddenly filled with a thick stew. He picked up his spoon and started poking at the potatoes. 

"What do you have to see Professor Snape about tonight?" 

"Just a detention. I got in a fight with Potter the other night and Snape caught us." 

"That's too bad." 

"Not really. I mean, he never makes my detentions bad, or anything." Because I'm a spoiled git, he added to himself. It took all his will power not to say it out loud. 

Smiling, Pansy said, "Yeah, but if you're in detention you can't be with me." 

"About that, I rethought what you said and I think it would be better if we weren't so...close. I mean, you're right. I am in a bad mood. I don't want to do anything we'll both regret out of groundless emotion." 

Pansy laughed. The sound was like softly tinkling wind chimes on a distant breeze. "Draco, when I said that earlier--" She broke off, looking into his eyes. 

Harry fidgeted with his spoon, moving it from one side of his bowl to the other. He thought this would be easier. If Draco didn't want to do anything with her he wouldn't hesitate. He'd just say it. He wouldn't have even sat beside her. I'm a terrible Draco. The realization wasn't the worst he'd had in the passed months. 

"We'll have to go for a walk later. We can talk." 

"Maybe we can talk in a couple days. Give us both some time to just step back and breath a little bit." 

Her good mood fading, she turned to him with narrowed eyes. "You know, you are the strangest boy I have ever met. I never know where I stand with you. It's really annoying." She leaned closer to him and whispered, "But it's also sort of exciting." 

A shiver ran down Harry's spine as her lips brushed his earlobe. He pulled away from her. "See, Pansy, that's sort of the point. You aren't suppose to find it exciting. You're suppose to be unattracted to me because of it." 

"How could anyone not love you?" 

Letting a deep breath out slowly, Harry decided to go as Malfoy as he could. "Look, I'm not interested in you that way. You're fine to talk to every now and then, but that's all I want from you." 

"You didn't seem too upset this morning." 

"You were too busy playing dementor and sucking my soul out through my mouth to notice if I was upset or not!" he retorted truthfully. 

Standing up, she curled her lip at him. "Fine. Have a nice life, Draco." Pansy walked away, her robes swishing behind her. 

Thank goodness, he thought, going back to his stew. If Draco didn't want her mad at him, he could patch it up. That would at least keep her off him for the next couple days. She was pretty, but that just wasn't what he cared about. After about two tasteless bit of his stew, Harry stood up and left. He couldn't force down any more and if he tried to he really would end up sick. 

On his way out the door, he passed Draco, now fully dressed, on his way in. 

All the things that he should have told him ran through his mind. Like the fact that he wasn't speaking to Ron. What if he went over all chummy? That would be a dead give-away that something was wrong. And Draco had mentioned seeing Remus earlier. How did he act towards him? 

Two days of this? Between worrying about what he had to do and what Draco had to do, it was going to drive him nuts.

* * *

Happy Gryffindor Potter, Draco mused, strolling up to the table and stopping beside Hermione. He'd planned on skipping the entire day and just sleeping off the aggravation he was feeling, but there was a flaw in his plan: he couldn't sleep. Harry's bed was so uncomfortable and the blankets were cotton--Who in their right mind would keep cotton sheets on their bed? They were hot and they tangled. 

In his restlessness, he'd gotten dressed. That too, however, came with an annoyance. Cotton underwear. Not only were they cotton, but they were briefs as well. After sitting in the room by himself for a few minutes, all he could think about was the fact that his underwear felt two sizes too small and kept rubbing on the inside of his thigh in a very annoying way. The idea of discarding them all together did come up, until he started thinking about how that would be even more uncomfortable. 

In an attempt to get his mind off Harry's uncomfortable underwear, he'd considered going to the library to get the potion instructions for the Switching Solution antidote. Just one problem: he was suppose to be acting like a reclusive, angry Harry Potter. On his best days, Harry wasn't known to go to the library. Finally, his uncomfortable, cotton underwear and restriction from the library had led him to the Great Hall. He may be reclusive, but he was starting to get hungry. He wasn't sure if it was his own hunger, or if Potter had been neglecting food as severely as he himself was, but his stomach wouldn't stop rumbling. 

"Hi, Hermione," he said, sitting beside her. 

"Harry! There you are! I was so worried about you when you didn't come to class. I figured Professor Dumbledore excused you, though." 

"Yeah," Draco replied, ladling stew into the bowl in front of him. "I'm off classes for the morning." 

"Will you be in afternoon classes?" 

"I doubt it." Draco shifted his weight, trying to get somewhere close to comfortable. Harry's pants were tighter around his middle than he liked, too. Someone has to take him out clothes shopping, he thought, tasting the stew. It was perfect. 

Hermione was studying him for a few minutes. "Were you OK this morning?" 

"Yeah, fine. I just didn't feel like talking." 

"That's good. I didn't get to finish what I wanted to say to you this morning." 

Uh-oh. "It can't wait?" 

"I know you don't seem mad right now, but I really want to say this, so please just be quiet and listen. I didn't mean to make it sound like I was blaming you for Sirius dying. I wasn't. I would never think it was your fault. I was just trying to get across the importance of everything, you know?" 

Nodding, he said, "I understand completely." The only thing to remember about girls, he mused, was to agree with them. As long as you only had to deal with them short-term, it was the easiest way to get out of any situation. 

Hermione smiled and seemed to relax. "So, are you going down to see Snape tomorrow?" 

"No." 

"But I thought you had Occlumency." 

"I do, but I'm not going," he stated matter of factly. 

"What!? Harry, you just said you understood how import--Never mind!" she snapped. She stood up quickly, knocking her cup over. She started to clean it up with a napkin, but just dropped it and threw her hands up in the air as if to say, "Why bother?" 

Not having expected that sort of reaction, Draco glared at her. "You don't need to start throwing things around just because I don't feel like dealing with Snape." 

"That's not it and you _know_ it! I swear you're doing this on purpose!" she declared, swinging her bag up on her shoulder and storming out of the Hall. 

"Mood swings much?" Draco muttered. He went back to eating his stew. Sure, Harry probably would have gone after her and tried to talk to her, but he was hungry. It was only one in the afternoon and he was already sick of playing Gryffindor-kiss-up to Granger. 

At least Weasley's leaving me alone. Hmm, I wonder if him and Potter may not be on the best of terms. He seemed to be in a right mood the other day. Looking down the table, he watched Ron eating in silence, the group of boys around him laughing and chatting loudly. 

Weasley looked up, caught his eye, and glared. 

Freak, Draco thought, glaring back until the other boy looked away.

* * *

One of the things Harry Potter always hated was how busy his life was with pleasing other people. It was odd to feel freed from that. He didn't have to go to Occlumency. He didn't have to go see Dumbledore. There was no worry that he'd get a letter over the next couple days saying he needed to go Grimwauld over holiday. No one seemed to need him for anything. 

Harry was lying on Draco's bed, looking at the pattern in the stone ceiling. He'd spent the passed few months just lying in bed. Over the summer he could have counted the number of times he actually got properly dressed on one hand. Now that there was a space in the frenzy of his life, all he could think to do was lie down. 

He smiled to himself at the irony of it. He was free from being the Boy Who Lived and what was he doing? Enjoying the ambiguity he'd always wanted? Nope. He was in bed, lying down, staring at the ceiling. Just what he'd be doing if he were still Harry potter. 

"This is getting old," he mused. Classes would be out in a half hour, so it wouldn't matter if he were up and around. Swinging his legs off the bed without thinking, he let out an annoyed growl when he kicked the bedside table once more. 

It was only a few minutes before he was out of the common room and walking up the hall. He wasn't sure where he was going, but it felt nice not to be stared at as he went. He opened the side door, stepping out into the sunshine. The Pitch, he thought. That's the perfect place to go. 

As he headed down the sloping grounds, Harry was increasingly aware of the fact that there _were_ people staring at him. There was a small group of seventh year Ravenclaw girls sitting on a bench along the walk who looked over when he passed. 

A little annoyed, he glanced over his shoulder at them. Most of them had already turned back to their conversation, but one was still watching him. When their eyes locked, she smiled shyly, a light blush spreading across her cheeks. 

Not sure what to do, Harry just kept walking. He was use to being stared at, but not like _that_. She likes him, he mused. It was an odd thought that anyone could like Draco Malfoy, but here it was, right in front of him. It wasn't as if Draco was unattractive, but his personality was terrible! He was like a rabid animal with poisonous fangs. 

Safely away from ogling girls, Harry climbed the stairs to the top seats in the stadium. He dropped onto one of the benches with a sigh. It was nice being away from everything that had been bothering him. By himself, away from any existence that might bother him, he just enjoyed the warm breeze that ruffled his hair. There was a hint of fall in the air, but, leaning back, his hands braced on the bench behind him, looking up into the sky, time seemed to stop for him. Harry smiled a little. The sky was so huge... A sudden twinge of loneliness brought him back to the real world. Looking down, he sighed heavily. Sirius would never have been just sitting around on a day like this. He'd have something fun and adventurous to do. 

Shoving the thoughts away, Harry shook his head. This was not something he needed to be thinking about right now. What he should have been thinking about was exactly how he was going to approach his detention with Snape. In just a few hours it would be his job to keep from having to touch a cauldron. 

_Tell him you want to talk about my father. Say you're upset about Father being locked up and you just need someone to talk to. Give him a line about thinking of him as a second father, or whatever you want._

Snape? A second father? Harry sighed. He was such a terrible liar. 

With the looming evening, Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was what Snape felt like when he knew he had to go in for a Death Eater meeting. Did he get flustered about having to lie to the powerful sorcerer? Of course not, he thought. Snape was never flustered. Or nervous. He always knew exactly what to do, even if he was wrong. 

Like the previous year when he'd gone to check on Sirius. (Harry went through many hours trying to blame Snape for everything, but it just didn't work after Dumbledore's argument.) And then the year before that, when, unflinchingly, he'd agreed to go back to spying. And the year before that, when he'd "saved" Harry and his friends from Sirius and Remus. (Granted they had never been in real danger, but he'd risked a lot, personally, to crawl down that passage that undoubtedly reminded him of his own near-death experience.) 

As Harry wound his way around the events of the previous years, he found it easier to push his mind into a place that could more easily accept the idea of Snape as a father figure. It was a hazy place, but he'd gotten there. 

Feeling more fit to take on the challenge at hand, he stood up and walked down the stairs. Loneliness gave way to confusion as he pondered how he'd approach the situation. What would he do when he was actually faced with the slimy Potions Master? It was easy to think of him as not being all bad in the light of the afternoon, but when the evening came and he was locked down in the dark dungeons with the man...that was something else all together.

* * *

Humming to himself, Draco pawed through Harry's school bag. There was a Charms text, a few loose papers, a Transfiguration paper with someone's loopy hand writing all over it--it certainly wasn't Harry's. 

The whole second paragraph was circled and the loopy hand writing stood out clearly, "_Not a convincing argument. Try looking up Moltinborough._" 

Scanning the paragraph Draco had to sneer. Potter was _terrible_! Everyone knew Jack Ingus was the second founder of the live organism transfer. Moltinborough was the first. Ingus just got the credit because his paper work only had to travel across the country whereas the other man's had to fly from the North Pole, where Moltinborough had been staying to complete some research that involved hupdy dinks. 

Digging a little deeper, he found the other boy's summer reports for Charms. Eighty-percent. That's it? Sad, he mused, stuffing the paper aside. It was the last thing of interest; there were only quills and a half -empty ink bottle at the bottom of the bag. 

Just as Draco was putting the books back, the dorm door opened and Weasley walked in. 

"Thought I'd find you here." 

"I thought you were mad at me," was Draco's reply. 

Narrowing his eyes, Weasley said, "I'm not forgiving you for what you said to my mum. Hermione just asked me to talk to you and tell you what a git you're being about Snape. Well," he amended after thinking for a second, "she didn't say git. That was my throw-in." 

Potter insulted Weasley's mother? That's low. Glaring back, he said, "What? Just because I don't want to go to Occlumency she's whining to you? Why should I care what you think?" 

Weasley shrugged. "Yeah, that's sort of what I said to her, but she thought I could help. I tried. It didn't work. Have a nice life." With that, he turned to walk out of the room. 

"I will. And about what I said to your mother," Draco added, "I meant it." 

Eyes that had lit a bit at the beginning of what seemed to be an apology darkened. "Bugger off," he snapped, stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Draco smirked. Wonder what Potter said. Probably nothing too big. 

Looking at the piles of crumpled papers, Draco's lip curled. He is so messy. He needs a folder or two. I couldn't get by if I were this disorganized. Straightening the pages as best he could, he put everything away. Hopefully he'll be at dinner, Draco thought, tossing the bag by his bed and standing up. I need to get his schedule if I'm going to go to class tomorrow. 

"I really shouldn't. I should take the day to work on the--" His hand, raising towards the door knob, stopped. The potion. All his books were in his room, as were his potions ingredients and his cauldron. And where, exactly, was he going to make it? Usually when he did personal potions it was with Snape's permission in the dungeon. 

Groaning and kicking the door as hard as he could, Draco turned around and leaned against the wall. Was life ever easy? Well, whining won't help. He needed to go to the library and check Harry's potion kit. He couldn't get to his things, so he'd use-- 

"Harry! I can't open the door!" 

Standing up, he turned the knob. Longbottom, his arms full of books, hobbled in, dumping his things right on Harry's bed. "Thanks. I thought I was going to drop everything. I nearly fell back down the stairs." 

"You don't say," he mused, hiding a sneer. 

After moving the messy stacks to the bed under the window with all the plants, he looked over. "Why weren't you in class today?" 

"Didn't feel like going." 

"Oh. McGonagall wasn't happy." 

And I'm supposed to care? 

At his silence, the boy went back to sorting out his papers. "I lost my Charms work. Professor Flitwick said I could turn it in tomorrow, but no later. You haven't seen it anywhere, have you?" 

"No." Draco started to leave the room, but stopped when Longbottom called his name. 

"Just to let you know, Hermione's in the common room and she seems pretty mad again. Just letting you know so you don't get blind sided when you go down." 

Her again? What does she do? Camp out down there, waiting to jump on him every time he leaves his room? Psychotic Gryffindors! "What is she? My mother?" he sneered. 

"She's worried about you--" 

Tired of hearing that people were worried about their perfect little savior, Draco lost his temper. "I'm about sick of people worrying about me," he snapped. "Did any of you ever think that I don't need to be worried over?" Geez, no wonder Potter's been in a whiny mood lately! These people are ridiculous! 

Taken aback, the boy just turned back to his mess of papers, sifting through the heaping pile. 

Walking through the door and down the stairs, Draco shook his head. If these people didn't stop bothering him, he might just do something very un-Potter before the end of the two days. Hmm, he mused, remembering Weasley's words. Seems he's been acting very un-Potter anyway. Seems I'm not the only one who gets annoyed by this. And he gets it every day of his life...No wonder he gets so mad when I tease him about being famous. He probably hates it. 

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Hermione was marching towards him, her eyes set. "Harry, I need to--" 

"Not now. I have work to do," he cut her off, not stopping on his way to the door. 

"Harry!" 

Her exasperated cry drew the stares of most of the people in the common room. Draco whirled around, facing her with a savage glint in his eye. His next statement drew the stares of the rest of them. "Leave me alone, Granger. I just want to spend one fucking day without you following me around. Is that too much to ask?" 

"I'm--" 

"Just worried," he mocked nastily. "I know. You used that line already. Try something new." 

Hermione stood in front of him, trying to form some coherent reply, but failing miserably. 

When he'd glared at her as darkly as he could for a few tense, dead-silent seconds, Draco said, "I don't need you or anyone else worrying about me. Mind your own life and let me mind mine." Without waiting for the noise in the common room to resume, he walked out into the hall, making a point to remember to step over the lip in the wall. 

Draco walked down the hall with every intention of going straight to the library to get the potions book he needed. If he had to wait for Potter to get the right book, they'd be stuck like this for the rest of the year. And he wasn't sure how Harry was doing, but he was about sick of it. Life as Harry Potter sucked. 

Any thoughts of going to the library, however, were gone the moment he turned the corner and came face to face with McGonagall. She was scowling down at him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Is there a reason you weren't in class today?" 

Though they'd agreed he'd say he just didn't feel like going, that didn't seem like the answer that would get the old bat out of his way the fastest. Instead, he said, "I was still feeling a little out of it so when I went back up to bed I just lied down." 

Studying him, she thought for a moment. Finally, in a kinder voice, she said, "I won't accept any excuses tomorrow. And I want that paper by dinner or it won't be graded." 

"Paper?" 

"The organic transfer essay I assigned the day before yesterday. That was due today." 

"Oh, yeah. Forgot. I'll have that to you as soon as I get back from the library. Just popping up to check on something for Charms." 

"Get to it then, Potter." With that, McGonagall walked away, her step quick and stern. 

Does she ever relax? Draco wondered. 

Despite the fact that she seemed up tight about everything, Draco couldn't help but notice that she was the only one who wasn't treating him--or rather, Harry--as if he were about to break. She was reasonable about the whole affair. She was acting normal, like herself. And yet, she'd shown definite concern for him earlier when she brought him to Dumbledore. McGonagall was probably the only person who hadn't gotten on Potter's nerves. She was about the only person who hadn't gotten on Draco's. 

The library was nearly empty with the acceptation of several fifth years and a couple seventh years, who were obviously already being put to it by their professors. 

Going to the potions section, which he knew very well, Draco scanned the old books, running his finger along their spines. He suddenly made a disgusted face when he saw his finger nails. No, Potter's finger nails. _He_ would _never_ bite his finger nails. That was so gross! 

_Hendler's Essential Antidotes_, he thought. It was one of his favorite books and had, actually, been a gift from Severus when he'd gotten his letter from Hogwarts. 

"To put you on decent paths," Severus had said, his dark eyes emotionless as always. 

More than happy to have a gift from the man, Draco had just flipped through the pages, looking at the fully illustrated lists and the results pages. The antidotes in the book were mostly for common mistakes made in household potions. Such as if one had put bat twig in a cleaner instead of bahweg, which was a mistake often made by people making potions from others' verbal instructions. The result would be a brew that periodically spouted small, flying bats at odd intervals. A little sprinkle of ground pixie wings and the potion would sort itself into a harmless solution resembling water. 

These antidotes, however, were not the ones Draco had focused on. It was the ones in the _Common Accidents in the Home Lab_ section towards the back that had all the interesting ones. A reversal for several shrinking potions, an all-purpose ghost repellant for those times when one accidentally summoned dead relatives (an every-day occurrence, claimed the book), and a fool-proof Switching Solution Antidote, complete with suggested tasters to add so the flavor wasn't so offensive. 

_Hendler's Ess_-- "Ah! Here we are," Draco said triumphantly when he found the book. He pulled it off the shelf and brought it to the front desk. "I'd like to check this out." 

Pince glared down at him as if he were the most unwelcome person in her library. 

What did he do to get on her bad side? Every time Draco went in there she was as pleasant as any librarian could be expected to be, even venturing a smile when he brought his selection up to check out. 

"Check out numbers?" she asked stiffly. 

"Oh, umm, I forgot them." 

"Potter, right?" she snapped. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Snatching the book out of his hand, she flipped through a small file catalogue until she found what she was looking for. Scribbling something on the card, she shoved the book back at him roughly. "One week and it has to be back." Without further conversation, she turned and started dusting a pile of books that obviously didn't need to be dusted. 

Draco sighed. Some people are just impossible to like and Potter was just one of them, he mused, making his way back down the winding stairs to the Gryffindor common room. He needed to check Harry's potion kit and then get that paper to McGonagall. Ignoring the silent stares he was getting as he walked through the room and up the stairs, Draco opened the dorm door and strode in, setting the book on his bed. He knelt beside Harry's trunk, lifting it. 

Before he got far in his search, he heard someone clear their throat loudly from the other side of the room. Looking up, Draco was only mildly surprised to see Longbottom, whom he'd missed upon entering. 

"After you left I was thinking and I don't think it was fair of you to yell at me. Ron's told me how you've been to everyone and--" 

"Shut up," he said, more annoyed at being distracted when he was trying to look for some thing than actually angry. 

"No! You're the one who told me I should stand up for myself, so I am! It was really mean of you, yelling at me when I was just trying to help!" 

Deciding that arguing wouldn't deter the boy, Draco put his hands up and said, "Gee, you know, you're right. I've seen the error of my ways. Golden light, angelic music. All that. Now leave me alone. _Please_." 

Longbottom's face was still slightly red, but he seemed to think he'd said all he needed to because he went back to looking for his paper. 

He still hasn't found it? Draco mused. Poor idiot. A smile lit his face when his hands fell on the black carrying case that Harry kept his potions kit in. It was a nice case made of dragon hide with silver clasps. It actually looked quite a bit like his own, except his was personalized, his name on the side in silver letters. So he's got taste in one aspect of his life, Draco thought. He probably didn't even buy it himself. Bet it was a gift. 

Popping the top open, he surveyed the kit's contents. There were several empty jars and a few empty places where cutting and mixing tools should have been. Someone's not been keeping up with their school supplies. I think he's got everything I need though...No. No beetle eyes. I'll need to get some of those. And he's missing snipe grass roots. That's essential! How does he think he's going to get through the year in Potions without snipe grass roots? 

"Hey, Neville," he called, flipping the book open to the antidote. 

Papers stopped moving. "Umm, yeah?" he asked nervously. 

"Do you have any beetle eyes or anything? I'm all out." 

"No, but I think there's some in the students' store cupboard." 

"That's closed until tomorrow. I need it tonight." 

"Hermione's in Potions. Or you could ask one of the fifth years. They'd have some, I'm sure." He thought for a few second then said, "Ginny might. I don't know if you're talking to her or not." 

Standing up, Draco thought, I hope he is, or we'll be like this for three days instead of two and that will go over into pre-season Quidditch practice. "Thanks anyway, Neville. And I really meant that earlier. I am sorry." 

"It's OK. I know you and Sirius were close. I remember what it was like when my parents were..." Longbottom trailed off and looked out the window. "Well, I know how it feels. I mean, they aren't dead, but if they weren't sick I wouldn't have to stay with my gran. And that's sort of the same situation you're in." 

Draco wasn't sure what to say. He knew about the Longbottom's, of course, but it was odd to hear the boy talk about it. In Slytherin, no one really talked to each other, so the open display of trust was new also. 

"But you'll get to stay with Professor Lupin now, right?" 

"I'm not sure," was all he said. "I haven't heard anything for sure about it." Wanting out of the room more than he'd ever wanted anything else in his life, Draco closed the potion kit and set it, with the book, in Harry's trunk, then left. Staying any longer would have just been too weird. The emotion seemed to crackle in the air. The determination that Neville had when he mentioned his own parents... 

Shaking off the odd feeling, Draco was glad when Granger was nowhere to be seen as he entered the room. Looking around, Draco spotted Ginny talking with a short, mousy boy. He walked over to her, cautious. She had spoken to him on his way to see Dumbledore, so maybe Potter hadn't gotten around to offending her yet. 

"Hey, Ginny." 

Looking up, she glared at him. "That was really mean, Harry." 

"Yeah, I know, and I'm sorry--" 

"Don't tell me. Tell Hermione." 

"I'm going to," he assured her, fighting the urge to yell at her too. Who was she to scold him like a child? "I just wanted to give her time to cool off some. I was way out of line, I know, and I have no good reason. I've just been really stressed with starting NEWTs Potions and all. Then tonight I realized I never got my potions kit refilled and I need beetle eyes for class or I'm going to be in serious trouble. It's just been a lot of small things stacking up really." 

After a moment more of glaring, the girl's eyes softened. "Believe me, I know what it's like to have weird things going on that your in the middle of. I know what you must being feeling like." 

He smiled at her. 

"I have some extra beetle eyes you could borrow, but not many." 

"I could replace them. I'll send an owl first thing tomorrow." 

"You don't have to." 

Like your family could afford one extra eye, he thought. "No, trust me, I don't mind. I need to send for some other things as well anyway." 

Ginny smiled up at him. "Thanks." 

"I should be saying thanks. You're the one saving me from death by Snape." How true, Draco mused. 

"Do you want to walk to dinner with me?" 

"Sure. We could get the eyes after that?" 

"Yeah." 

As they made their way down to the Great Hall, Draco was struck with how normal Ginny seemed. Wasn't she the one who loved Potter or something? But no, no weird, obsessive rambling. They talked quietly about things like classes and Quidditch. 

"Are you going try out this year? I'm sure it won't be a real _tryout_, but we can make a show of it." 

"Me?" Draco asked, a little surprised. Oh yeah...that's right. "Well, I might. I don't know. I've been really busy and I still don't know if more stuff will come up." 

She nodded darkly. "Yeah." Obviously trying to lighten the mood, she said, "You know, I don't know exactly what you said to Ron, but he'd been puffed up and defensive ever since. It was funny watching him earlier. He looked like a giant, red bullfrog." 

Draco thought for a second, getting the most amusing mental picture. He started laughing. 

As they approached the Gryffindor table, Draco couldn't help but wonder how much Harry was actually involved in the fight with the Dark Lord. He was taking Occlumency lessons and being dragged to the headmaster at the mention of a scar twinge. There must be more than meets the eye. 

TBC 


	3. Misdirected Conversations Part 1

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

Harry looked around the common room. He was settled in one of the chairs near the fire place, trying to keep warm in the few remaining minutes before he'd head up for dinner and he'd been torn from his silent thoughts by the deafening quiet. There was the occasional scraping of chairs or rustling of papers. And some of the students were talking in low voices, but for the number of people there, it seemed like there should have been more noise. 

Shifting in his seat, he shook his head slightly. He liked the quiet, but it was hard to lose himself in thought when there was nothing to be lost from. 

"Hey, Draco, Xavier was scratching at the window." 

Looking over, Harry was a little startled to see a large, evil-looking, red-eyed owl. It had light tan feathers with deep brown freckles across it's crown and chest. It's ear tuffs were turned back, giving the impression of horns, and the round, red eyes peered out of a snide face. If there was ever an unfriendly owl, it was definitely this one. 

"Oh, umm, thanks," he said, taking the bird from the other boy. "Hi there," he said softly. He wasn't sure if he should take the letter or not. He figured if he didn't whoever sent it might be suspicious when it showed back up. However, he didn't want to read Draco's mail. 

Xavier hooted impatiently, sticking his leg out at Harry. 

With a sigh, he began to untie the letter, muttering, "Sorry, sorry. Pushy thing, aren't you?" 

Hooting again, the bird nipped Harry's fingers affectionately, as if to say, "Yes, but you love me anyway." 

Unable to resist smiling, he pulled the letter away and stroked Xavier. The puff of feathers on his chest was soft and downy. He was obviously a very well-groomed bird. Feeling slightly guilty, Harry had to remind himself that he did not neglect Hedwig. The lady at the pet store said owls didn't need much outside attention as far as grooming. Any pampering this owl got was just another sign of Draco's "best of everything" up bringing. 

"I bet you want to go back up to the owlry, huh? I'll take you outside when I go up for dinner." As he stood up, Xavier hopped onto his shoulder, perched with his wing brushing against Harry's cheek. He went up the stairs, careful not to tip too much so the bird didn't feel the need to dig it's long talons in his shoulder to stay put. Once he'd put the letter in the top drawer of Draco's dresser, he started towards the Great Hall. 

Taking Xavier off his shoulder, Harry held him on his arm, like he was more use to doing with Hedwig. " You're very nice, you know," he said in a conversational tone. Since there was no one in the hall, he figured he'd be safe showing some signs of affection. "You don't look it though. But looks can be deceiving, right?" 

Not having time to go all the way up to the owlry, Harry simply stepped out into the fading light of the sun. "There you go, Xavier. Sorry I can't bring you up all the way, but I have to get to dinner so I can be to Snape's office on time." 

Hooting softly, Xavier tightened his grip on Harry's arm briefly before taking off, his wings moving smoothly through the air as he flew to the highest tower. His strong stride was unbroken by the cool evening wind that swept through. Watching him fly, Harry realized how beautiful the eagle owl was, even if he did have a very affronted expression upon their first meeting. 

At least he seems to be decent to his owl, Harry mused, pulling his robes more tightly around him as he went back inside. He wouldn't seem so sweet if Malfoy treated him badly. 

The Great Hall was full of people milling from table to table, catching up on the day's news before the trays of food were sent up from the kitchen. Walking to the other side of the Hall, Harry glanced longingly at Hermione, who was sitting alone with her face stuffed in a book. He'd give anything to go sit by her. Instead, he looked down the Slytherin table and was half pleased, half worried when he didn't see anyone Draco usually sat with. 

Well, I am Draco Malfoy, he told himself. I can sit where ever I want and if someone doesn't like it I'll ...hex them. I'm a Malfoy, I can do that. 

Harry sat about half way down the table, away from the rest of the students, so he had a good view of where Hermione sat. He wanted to keep an eye out for how Draco acted towards her when he came down for dinner. For herself, she looked rather bothered about something. She was clenching the sides of the book the same way she did when she and Ron were arguing. 

Looking farther down the table, Harry watched Ron eating for a moment. He was with Dean, who looked as if he were trying to hide being annoyed. Very unsuccessfully. Every now and then, Ron would stop eating and talk for a few minutes, his freckled face flushed bright red. 

He must still be mad at me and I bet Draco's not doing anything to ease that. Scanning the crowds for any sign of Draco, his eyes stopped by the door. There he was, walking in with Ginny. They looked serious about something until she made a comment and they both started laughing. That could have been good or bad. 

As the pair moved down the table, Harry was slightly alarmed to see them sit a ways off from Hermione. What happened?! What could Draco have done to hurt their friendship? Maybe he just thinks he should sit with Ginny because she's my friend too, he thought hopefully. He's use to being popular and sitting with a bunch of different people, so he just doesn't understand the concept of sitting with the same people every day. 

Hoping against hope that that was what it was, and that Hermione was just angry with Ron's behavior, Harry turned his attention to the Head Table. Dumbledore was looking in Draco's direction with a dark, thoughtful light in his eyes. 

Does he suspect? He can't. With something like this he would have said something sooner if he knew. 

"You're getting paranoid," he told himself under his breath. Why couldn't he relax and enjoy the fact that he wasn't the one Dumbledore was looking at with concern? Draco obviously didn't seem to mind what was going on. 

Harry poked at his chicken. It had been days since he'd had more than two bites of anything and this just didn't look good. His current situation wasn't helping. And to make matters worse, in about an hour, he'd be at Snape's mercy. Shaking his head, he pushed the plate back a little and looked around. As he was standing up to leave, he glanced up and saw Snape looking down at him with emotionless eyes. 

He told me to eat something, Harry thought. But I can't. Climbing over the bench, he headed to the door. He needed a walk or something. He needed to relax. It had only been one day and he was already losing his mind. 

Wandering down the hall, Harry let out a small sigh. If it weren't for the Snape thing, he thought he'd be in a better mood. As good a mood as someone stuck in Draco Malfoy's body could be. 

"Mr. Malfoy." 

Recognizing the deep, smooth voice, Harry stopped in his tracks. Turning slowly, he looked up at Snape, who'd just come out of the Great Hall and was walking towards him. And this is my death, he thought. I'm going to die in Draco Malfoy's body. "Yes, sir?" 

"Since you've finished early, we can get started." 

"OK. Sounds good." 

The two walked down to the dungeons in silence. The clicking of Snape's measured steps and the scuffing of Harry's shoes were the only sounds echoing through the torch-lit corridors and stair wells. 

How do I start? What do I say? Umm, 'Severus...' Severus? That was going to sound so weird. He couldn't remember ever saying the man's first name for any reason. 

All too soon, they were stopping in front of Snape's office. "_Emerio_," he said in a low voice. They stood for a second before the door opened, gesturing for Harry to go in first. "I have a couple potions Madame Pomfrey needs made which I do not like making, along with example potions for class tomorrow. You can start by lighting four fires over on that table." 

"Yes, sir." Harry walked towards the work table where this whole mess began. He said the incantation for self-burning fire and set the first one on the table. Repeating it three more times, he listened to Snape's even breathing behind him. There was a scratching of a quill and then a rustle of papers. 

"Potter." 

"What?" he yelped, turning quickly, almost dropping the final fire on the floor instead of the table. 

"I was just looking over the class work and I'd gotten to Potter's right before dinner." 

"How'd he do?" 

Scowling, Snape said, "You know I don't discuss students' grades with you or anyone." 

"Except the whole class," Harry muttered. 

"Sometimes a light admonishment in the presence of peers does more good that silent criticism." Snape looked over. "The cauldrons are in the store cupboard. Use the silver ones. I have trace-sensitive ingredients in one of the potions." 

Doing as he was told, Harry brought out four of the small silver cauldrons. They were thick and heavy, straining his muscles as he carried them. When he'd placed each one on a fire, he thought, All right. It's now or never. "Umm, S-severus?" The name sounded too weird in his brain, but luckily it came out naturally enough in Draco's drawling voice. 

"What?" A huge, dusty book open across his desk, Snape was studying several lines of faded text. 

"I was wondering if we could talk about, umm, my father?" 

"What about him?" he asked absently, still not looking up. 

"Well, I just sort of...I mean, I don't _miss_ him, I just...Well, I just...I..." That wasn't what he wanted to have said. 

Looking up, his eyes as expressionless as ever, Snape said, "Are those fires up to temperature for healing potions?" 

"I don't know," he admitted quietly, turning back to look at the flames. This wasn't going well. He needed to find something to say to get the man's attention. Something that would make him stop what he was doing. Testing the flames, he said, "I think the first three are, but the last one isn't heating very fast." 

"Good. We want one at a slow boil. You can put water in the first two. I have actaine to go in the third. It's on my desk in the classroom. I'll be right back." 

"OK, you either do it now," Harry told himself after the man had left, "or you won't be able to." Pouring water into the first cauldrons he thought, Something meaningful. What the hell does Draco Malfoy have or think of that's meaningful? he sneered to himself. All he cares about is his money. 

Suddenly struck by the thought, he stopped trying to think of the situation from Draco point of view and looked at his own life. OK. It's third year, he told himself. You just got out of the Whomping Willow. Sirius... 

His thought faltered as he created the picture in his mind. It felt like just two days ago that he watched the haunted but joyful grin on Sirius' face when he agreed to stay with him. He took a deep breath. 

Sirius is there. You just found out you get to leave the Dursley's and live with your godfather. But there are dementors. You look over and see them swarming around him. They're going to take him away from you. If I were in a position when I really thought the dementors were going to take my father and destroy his soul, what would I say to someone I trusted to talk about that with? 

The office door opened and Snape walked back in with a large container of sickly, green liquid. "You'll want to put that last one--What's the matter?" 

"Severus, can we please talk?" Harry asked. Snape wasn't the person he'd have chosen to talk to about how he felt when Sirius was on the ground, whimpering, about to be taken from him, but he could pretend he was someone else. He's...Hermione, he told himself. A really ugly Hermione. 

Setting the actaine on his desk, Snape walked closer to him. "Sure." There was no kindness in his voice, but there was no malice, either. It was a neutral offer from a friend to listen. Muttering a quick spell, Snape put the fires out. "Why don't we sit down in here?" 

Nodding, Harry followed the man back into his private rooms. When he walked through the door he was surprised to see how familiar it looked. It wasn't the average home of anyone he knew, but it wasn't the dark dwelling of an evil Death Eater/Potions Master either. The room was small with two doors off to the side, most likely leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. There were two arm chairs in front of the medium hearth and a low couch pushed against the far wall. A small table stood between the chairs and the couch was covered with papers, as if Severus had gone straight from collecting tests to sitting, exasperated, in his room. 

Harry could see him very clearly walking in, dropping the pile of study questions on the couch, and sitting, annoyed and tired of the students, in his favorite chair by the fire, a cup of steaming tea materializing on the small table. 

It was a room he'd never been in, but it felt familiar in the way that all lived-in rooms felt familiar. The feeling surprised him, but not in an uncomfortable way. What was he doing? Oh yes, Sirius. 

"Have a seat. Tea?" Snape made no effort to hide the untidy pages or to clear the small pile of books off the table. He was comfortable in Harry's presence. No, Draco's. 

With a sudden realization, as if Severus and Draco's relationship had just been put under a magnifying glass, Harry saw with clarity what he was doing. He wasn't stepping out of Draco's personality. He was stepping into it. This room, with Severus Snape, was Draco. His safe haven. The reason the boy had been so anxious about Severus finding out he'd heard something he shouldn't, invaded a personal spot located somewhere even father back than this room, suddenly made perfect sense. 

"No, thank you." Harry sat in one of the chairs, looking into the fire as Severus conjured two cups of tea and set them on the table. 

"Give it a minute to warm up." He sat down in the other chair. "What's been on your mind?" Severus's tone was soft and patient. There was no amount of comfort there, but there was something. 

This wasn't someone who would coddle him and tell him everything would be all right. That nothing was his fault. This wasn't Remus, or Hermione. He would never bring Draco breakfast every day, especially when he'd been yelled at for no reason. Neither would he leave Draco to stew in a dark corner for months without trying more than once to get him out. 

Harry looked sideways at the man, the fire light dancing on his pale skin. He opened his mouth to say something about how he was afraid he'd never see his father again. Maybe mention being sad that his father might be executed, but it wouldn't come. All he did was sit there with his mouth open for a second before he closed it. 

"It should be hot now." 

Absently, Harry took the tea cup that was closest to him and sipped at it. It was very hot. And very strong. 

"I graded your study questions earlier today. Marco Danego?" Severus raised an amused eyebrow. 

Not understanding the question, Harry just shrugged a little. 

"Yes," he said, sipping his own tea. "That's sort of what I thought." There were a few more seconds of silence in which Harry realized he didn't have to say anything, because Severus _cared_ about Draco. The man would sit there all night, just staring into the fire, not saying a word or expecting him to say one, if he thought that was what Draco needed. 

"Before this is over, a lot of people are going to be dead, aren't they?" 

"More likely than not. Does that bother you?" 

"Yes." There was another moment of silence. "Do you think the sacrifices are worth it?" 

"I think if a sacrifice is made for a good reason it's not only worth it, but it's cleansing, in a way. There are people who do terrible things and they pay for them with a great sacrifice, and then they can die in peace." 

"Do you think Father is going to die?" The question came out with less emotion than he'd meant it to, but Severus didn't seem to notice. Perhaps that was the way Draco always spoke about his father. 

After a few moments of thought, he said quietly, "Draco, your father has done many terrible things." 

There were several more minutes of complete silence, the only sound coming from the crackling fire. Harry sipped the tea once more, just to be doing something. He was thinking of his own situation. Sirius blamed himself for my parent's deaths. Maybe he thought saving me was a sacrifice that would free him of that guilt. 

"He loves you." 

He did it because he loves me, Harry thought before he realized Severus had even said anything. "What did you say?" 

"He loves you." 

He did it because he loves me. No, we're talking about Lucius. Anger suddenly swelled in Harry's chest. Lucius Malfoy didn't know _love_! Someone who loved couldn't murder people and torture people on purpose. They couldn't follow Voldemort. Wear his mark on their skin like a trophy! 

Unable to hold back the flood of emotions he was feeling, Harry spat out, "He doesn't _love_. He doesn't love anything or anyone but his money and his power. He doesn't care what happens to anyone except himself! Even if he thought he _loved_, it doesn't mean anything. I hate him! I hate people like him. People who can hurt other people and laugh about it! I hate everyone who's like that!" His hands were shaking so badly that his dropped the tea cup and it shattered on the floor by his feet. 

"Draco." 

There was a terrible moment when he thought he'd blown it. He shouldn't have said all that. I should have stuck to the "I miss my daddy," deal, not gone off on the Death Eaters. When that terrible moment suddenly passed, he realized he didn't care any more. He didn't care. 

There was a painful hurting inside his body. He just wanted to curl up inside himself. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since that day in Dumbledore's office, right after he'd fought Voldemort. He wanted to break something. To have something fragile and helpless and break it into a million pieces because that was all he could do to mirror what he was feeling. 

And suddenly, something did break. Something that had been there for the passed four months, growing, and snapping at his friends and the people he loved, just broke. And a deep, anguished sob escaped his throat. Harry clamped his hand over his mouth, not wanting to let it out. Not wanting to be weak because that wasn't what he was suppose to be! He was Harry Potter. He wasn't suppose to be _weak_. 

Feeling small and embarrassed, ceaseless tears streaming down his face, Harry pulled his legs up to his body. Everything that hurt for the passed four months seemed to convulse in his stomach and radiate through his whole body like some poison that had gotten into his blood stream. Every fiber of every muscle hurt as the toxic hate and humiliation washed through his veins, and he could feel each wave as clearly as if it were the only sensation in his body. 

From some distance place outside of the ball he'd pulled himself into, Harry heard a soft voice, deep and steady, whispering to him. "There, there. There, there." It was a warm voice. It wasn't kind and it didn't promise him that everything would be all better, but it was steady and it promised to be there for him as long as he needed it. 

Several minutes later, or several hours--for all Harry knew it was several days--the pain subsided and the last of the choking sobs died away. He was still curled in the chair, his head resting on the over-stuffed arm. He noticed that the fabric smelled like citrus and smoke. Beside him, Severus was leaning on the arm of his own chair, one arm stretched across the small table, stroking Harry's hair out of his face. Every now and then he'd whisper something so softly Harry couldn't make out the words, just the deep tones of his voice. 

When the crying had stopped all together, Severus stood up and knelt beside Harry's chair, his long fingered hand smoothing the fabric of Harry's robes down his back in long, massaging strokes. "There, there." 

Harry looked away. He couldn't stand to look into the man's eyes. Not after what he'd just done. Crying. Wasn't that the one thing Draco said not to do? And _he_, Harry, certainly didn't _cry_. 

Well, a nasty voice mutter to him, obviously, you do. 

"Do you feel better?" 

Harry opened his mouth to say no, but realized that wasn't true. His body felt empty and all the pain and poison that had been building up was gone. There was a slight sense of embarrassment, but he didn't feel hate any more. He didn't hurt. He was just there. Empty and numb, but clean. "Yeah, I think I do." He sniffed a little and wiped his nose on his robe sleeve. 

"Are you hungry?" 

"Yeah." Wiping his eyes, he sat up a little, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair. 

Severus disappeared through one of the doors for a minute and when he came back he had a plate of sandwiches and a goblet. "Pumpkin juice," he said, setting the goblet on the table. "And ham," he set the plate down, " no lettuce." There was an ironic smile on the man's face that told Harry the "no lettuce" was significant. 

Harry smiled as well. "Thanks." Feeling more hungry than he had in days, Harry ate three sandwiches while Snape moved to the couch and sorted through the papers. 

"First year essays quizzes," he said by way of explanation. "I read the first two and gave up for the day." 

"Did you ever think that if you were nicer and helped the students more, people would do better in your class?" 

"Potions is not a subject for _nice_. It is a dangerous subject which requires constant focus and attention. Personally I don't see why they make it mandatory. While it is important, you take one talentless, clumsy oaf like Vincent Crabbe and you could have the whole school blown to the moon." 

Harry couldn't help but smile, peering around the back of the chair at Snape. Shuffling the papers and talking about Crabbe as if he didn't like him--which he probably didn't--Severus was almost amiable. Almost. 

"What time is it?" 

"Passed lights out, I assure you." Standing up with the papers stacked in his hands, Snape walked over and set them on a second table, which was slightly bigger and higher than the side table. More of a dining table for one. "I have to patrol the upper halls for the next few hours. You finish that last sandwich and get off to bed." 

"Severus," he said, stopping him as he approached the door. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm sorry about the potions I was suppose to help you with." 

"No bother. I have a free double period tomorrow during which I can do them." He started to go, but stopped again. "You get some sleep. And there'll be no excuses for not being in class, understand?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good night." 

"Good night." Harry finished off the sandwich, too hungry to bother about the fact that he did like lettuce, very much, actually, and left through the office. He wished he were going up to Gyffindor Tower, where he could lay in bed and look out at the moon, knowing his best friends were with him. However, exhausted as he was from that purging session, he had to admit he could probably sleep anywhere. 

In Draco's dorm, he changed quickly, pulling on a pair of clean socks, then crawled under the warm blankets. Aside from special sheets, Draco's bed also had an extra comforter thrown on top. Tucked deep under the covers, too tired to dream, Harry drifted off into an unbroken sleep.

* * *

_There was a quiet dark room in some hidden house. Shades were drawn over the windows and Silencing Charms had been cast everywhere. At first Draco was surprised to find himself in this place. He'd never been there before, and it was a minute before he realized that he was dreaming. He tried to look to the left, but he turned right instead, looking at the closed door. He felt impatient, and angry. _

They're late, he thought. They should have been here hours ago. 

Who was he waiting for? He wasn't sure, but whoever they were, they were very late and that was not acceptable. 

The fire that was lit in the hearth popped and one of the logs slumped forward in the flames. It air was thick and dangerous. Unspent energy crackled in the room. And he waited, pacing. 

They should have been back. The replacements should have been set. Malfoy, Knott, and Gambler. 

Mr. Knott and Mr. Gambler were caught with Father, Draco thought. What replacements? 

There was an odd feeling of knowing and not knowing. As if some part of his brain understood the thoughts, but still most of it did not. What a weird dream. He hadn't dreamed about his father in months. 

Just as his patience were wearing unbearably thin, the door opened and five men walked in. There he was, Lucius Malfoy. His skin was pasty, his cheeks sunken. His wide eyes were hollow and haunted. Two of the other men looked in equal states, while the rest were in Ministry uniforms. 

Of all the things Draco wanted to say to his father, what he said was, "You're late." 

"We're sorry, my Lord. There were unforeseen complications," one of the Ministry workers said, bowing low to the ground. The rest of the men followed suit, Lucius and the other sick-looking men falling completely to the floor. 

"My Master," Knott groveled, clutching at the hem of Draco's robes. "You are truly great and noble." 

"To my faithful followers. But you three have failed me." A distinct feeling of anger filled the impatience as he spoke. "You did not retrieve the prophecy." 

"We tried, my Lord," Lucius said in a choked, scratchy voice, his thin, dirty fingers reaching forward as well. "We did all we could--" 

Draco kicked his father's groping hand away from his robes. "Insolent! You let a group of children_ defeat you! I expected more from you, Malfoy." _

Who am I? Draco wondered. My Lord...that would be the Dark Lord. Dreaming he was the Dark Lord wasn't a good sign, especially since he didn't particularly like the man. 

"My Lord--" 

"But that is not a matter. Things that are in the passed, are, of course, in the passed. Though punishment is not beyond point. Should I kill you slowly, or let you die quickly?" 

Horrified eyes stared up out of shallow sockets, yellowing skin pulled taunt over bone in fragile-looking faces. "Please, we will not fail you again! We have sworn ourselves to you and we will--" 

"Slowly it is, then," Draco said soothingly, a grin stretching across his face. "Crucio." 

There was screaming. A loud, terrified, pained screaming ringing in his head. It was a moment before Draco realized he was the one screaming. 

"Harry! Harry, wake up!" 

Draco's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. Pain starting at the scar on his forehead shot through his body. Looking around wildly, wondering where the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were, he was shocked to find himself still in the dorm room. Longbottom was sitting beside him and Weasley peered from between the hangings on his bed, concern shining in his eyes. 

"Are you OK?" 

Draco just shook his head. OK? How could he be OK?! He just watched... He shook his head. He didn't want to think about what he'd just seen. But then he remembered exactly what he'd seen. His father, being murdered... 

The door opened and Dean Thomas walked in followed closely by McGonagall. 

"Back away, give him some room!" she order, pushing Longbottom to the side. "Are you all right, Potter?" 

"It--it was just a bad dream--" 

"Come with me. We'll get you something warm to drink. Can you stand up?" 

The pain was subsiding with the exception of the stabbing in his forehead. "I think so." Being helped to his feet by a firm hand on his upper arm, Draco closed his eyes for a second. It was just a dream. Then what is she doing-- 

_Harry, it could just be Voldemort trying to get you to do something...rash._

The Dark Lord...Harry sees inside the Dark Lord's head?! The Occlumency, the reactions he kept getting when Harry's scar was mentioned--it all made sense. But that meant what he saw was real. That it would really happen! Or it _had_ happened already... 

As the thoughts raced around his head, McGonagall brought him down the hall towards Dumbledore's office. She said the password and they went up the stairs. 

"Ah, Minerva. Harry." 

Did he never sleep? 

"What is the problem?" 

"Harry had another one of those dreams." 

Looking at Draco, Dumbledore had a schooled, flat expression on his face. "Was there anything I should--" 

Dumbledore was interrupted when the fire in the hearth suddenly burned green and Severus Snape stepped out. "Albus there is--" He stopped when he saw Draco. 

"Please, Harry, have a seat and tell me what you saw." 

Shaking his head slowly, Draco wasn't sure what to say. If he told the truth they wouldn't care. It was just a couple Death Eaters. But it wasn't! It was his father! "My--my father..." he said weakly. 

"Let's rephrase that, Potter," Severus said evenly. "Did you see anything _relevant_?" 

I'm having nightmares about my father dying and all they can ask is if I saw anything _relevant_! Sure, they didn't understand, but wasn't Potter their little pet? Didn't they dote on his every breath? He had earth-shattering nightmares that woke up half the castle and they don't care unless it gives them information about the Dark Lord? 

"Relevant?" he repeated numbly. "I saw my father being murdered and you ask me if there was anything _relevant_?" His body shaking, Draco stood up and glared at Dumbledore for a moment before looking at the other two teachers. "What is wrong with you people?" 

"Harry, Severus didn't mean it the way sounded." 

"He meant it exactly the way it sounded! He never says things he doesn't mean!" he yelled. "Is that all you care about? This nasty scar and those horrid dreams?" 

"Please--" McGonagall reached towards him. 

Slapping her hand away, he said, "Don't touch me." Draco backed towards the door. "Don't ever come near me again." 

"Harry, please--" 

"Don't _talk_ to me! You know what, I'll get back to you when I see something _relevant_." He opened the door and walked out, ignoring the surprised look on McGonagall's face. Numb, Draco walked down the stairs and up the hall. He had to go somewhere. He had to do something. But what? His father was dead by now. If those visions were happening right when he was there, all three of the men were dead by now. 

Half way up to Gryffindor Tower, Draco leaned against the wall. Oh God, what's Mother going to say? Sinking to the ground, he was as close to tears as he could ever remember himself being. He pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his arms. 

"Harry?" 

Looking up slowly, he saw Hermione standing down the hall in a pink bathrobe. Her eyes were concerned, but guarded. 

"What do you want?" 

"Ron told me what happened. Are you OK?" 

Draco's shoulders dropped and his mouth hung open for a few seconds. "How the hell am I suppose to be OK? Do you know what I saw? My father. Being murdered. And I was the one who killed him! I saw him. He was looking up at _me_--" 

"No! It was Voldemort who did it. Not you. You were just in his memory, or something." Hermione walked closer and sat next to him. "You didn't do anything." 

Back-pedaling a little, realizing he'd probably said more than he should have, Draco just shook his head. His father's pained screams filled his mind once more. I didn't do anything. If I was there, in his mind, why couldn't I stop him? Why couldn't I do something? Clenching his fist so his nails dug into his palm, he said flatly, "You're right. I didn't. I didn't do a thing." 

Sighing, Hermione reached over and rubbed his shoulder a little. "You should go back up to bed and try to sleep." 

"Why do you care? After what I said to you?" 

"How many time do I have to tell you? I love you. And love means you take everything about a person. The shiny, winning Quidditch moments." She rolled her eyes to show she didn't really care about Quidditch. "And the painful, I-wish-I-were-anywhere-but-here moments." 

Draco just looked at her for a second. 

"I know I shouldn't have done that. When I kissed you. I know that threw you off some. I was just...I don't know. I didn't know what else I could do to make you feel better. Nothing was helping." 

Smirking, he said, "So no make out sessions any time soon, huh?" 

She laughed a little. "Probably not." 

She really does love him, Draco thought. She's the only one who sees him as a human and not just some tool to kill the Dark Lord. He wasn't sure what Harry would have done in that situation, so he just had to go with his own instincts, and they were telling him a thank you was definitely in order. Leaning towards her, he kissed her cheek. "Thanks. For everything. I know I've been a jerk." 

"Yeah, you have. But I forgive you." Hermione smiled. "Think you can get back to sleep?" 

Suddenly reminded of the dream, Draco rested his chin on his arms. Father... "Yeah, I think so," was all he said. 

When he got back upstairs, Draco was met with several uncertain stares. "What?" 

"Is everything OK?" Weasley asked. 

"Yeah. Better than it's ever been," he sneered. He lied down for a minute then restlessness over-took him. He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to go back to that room. He wanted to get out of this body and sleeping wouldn't help him. Draco got out of bed and picked up _Hender's Essential Antidotes_. He had the beetle eyes, and anything else that might be missing he'd just sneak into the store cupboard for. He knew Severus's password. 

Pulling the potions kit out of his trunk, Draco marched into the bathroom and closed the door. The fleesewood seeds needed to cure over heat for five hours. He could start that now. He'd find a good spot to brew the potion first thing after the fleesewood was finished. 

Draco spent the rest of the night up, slicing weeds and bottling the prepared ingredients. 

When the first streaks of light drifted lazily through the window, Draco was already packing his things back into the case. He knew of one spot that would be perfect to brew the potion. There was a small cove in one of the dead-end corridors by the Slytherin common room that no one ever went to, except for himself. 

As he emerged from the bathroom, he saw Longbottom standing up and stretching. "You're up early, Harry." 

"I have things to do today." Setting the book and kit on his bed, Draco got dressed quickly. Shrinking Harry's cauldron and tucking it in his pocket, he left the room. If he got down there early enough he wouldn't run into anyone. People seeing Harry Potter sneaking around by the dungeons wouldn't be the best thing in the world. He still had a day and a half in this body and he didn't feel like getting a detention, or doing something else that would slow his progress. 

The halls were cool with dull light from the sun rise streaming in. With the on-set of fall, the mornings were starting to get colder and the dawn less bright. White clouds could be seen drifting lazily over the grounds. It was one of those mornings Draco would have gotten up early for anyway, just to sit outside and watch the day wake up. Far from being the aesthetical type, he mostly enjoyed not having anyone else around him. 

Turning down the last corner before the final stairs, Draco pulled his robes more tightly around himself against the draft that blew up from the dungeons. A minute later, he ducked down the dead-end hall, grateful to have gotten down there before Severus got up for his morning stroll around the castle. 

Draco whispered the spell to light a small fire on the stone floor. He wanted to get it up to temperature before he tried to set up the cauldron. He sat next to the fire and opened the dragon hide case, pulling out several jars and sealed dishes. Unshrinking the cauldron, Draco was forced to notice, not for the first time, how temperamental Potter's wand was. 

"Stupid thing," he muttered, tapping the cauldron, which had grown several times bigger than it needed to. "It's _original_ size." Draco poured the cured fleeseweed seeds into the cauldron. They were still warm and bubbled a little against the cold pewter. When the fire was hot enough, he put the cauldron on it and started mixing in the rest of the wet ingredients. 

Draco checked the book real quick. 

_Let simmer two hours. Add dry ingredients (except hinky punk hair)._

"I need to get hinky punk hair," he muttered, giving the potion a small stir. It was starting to change to a light blue as the different parts blended, thickening slightly. "Two hours. I'll wait for Severus's class to start then get the hair while he's busy." 

Shifting back so he could lean against the wall, Draco was left with another hour before he expected Harry to wake up. He needed to tell him about his father. He could just imagine what the boy would do when Severus went to him with the information about his death. He'd probably start whining, Draco sneered to himself. 

It wasn't so much that Draco was annoyed with how Harry would react. It was more that he knew he wouldn't react that way. Draco wouldn't cry, or whine. He hadn't. It bothered him. It made him question the decision he'd made to join the Dark Lord. He was expected to, of course, but it was his father who expected him to. And now that he was dead, Draco felt a sharp sense of freedom that he hadn't had before. He could choose if he wanted to get marked. Or if he didn't. Or if he wanted to just not choose at all. It was very liberating in an acute, quiet way. 

He still had to wonder what his mother's reaction would be, though. Would she be upset? Would she have Severus visit the manor so she could cry? Would she decide to cut ties with the Death Eaters? Probably not. 

Draco stretched, the lack of sleep starting to fog his brain slightly. Get use to it, he told himself harshly. You aren't sleeping until you're out of this body. No more dreams. No more weird stints to the Dark Lord's mind. That was a place he never wanted to go to again. 

Rolling his head back on his shoulders, Draco dozed for a minute until the sound of students' voices floated down the hall to him. The Slytherins were beginning to stir, and that meant it was time to see Potter. 

Standing up and straightening his robes, he checked the fire temperature to make sure it was still even, then stirred the potion one last time. It was dull blue with the consistency of thin gravy, just like it should have been. Good. 

Walking up the hall, he peered around the corner to make sure no one would see him coming from the passageway. That was all he needed. Someone to find Harry Potter brewing unsupervised potions. Severus wasn't stupid. He'd put it all together and figure out what was going on. 

"Excuse me," Draco said politely, walking up to a first year. The younger the better. They're easier to intimidate. 

"What?" 

"I need to give Draco Malfoy a message from Professor McGonagall. It's about his Transfiguration make ups. Could you get him for me?" 

"Sure." Strolling down the hall, he disappeared around the corner to the entry hall. 

A few minutes passed before Potter emerged, his blond hair loose around his face. 

I look awful! Draco thought. His clothes were slightly wrinkled and his tie was crooked. 

"Oh, you. What is it?" 

"I needed to talk to you." Draco pulled Harry down the hall and into the passage where he had the cauldron simmering. "I started the potion early this morning. It'll be ready to take tomorrow around lunch time. I'll meet you down here at one." 

"All right." 

"How did detention go?" 

"Well, I'm still alive. And so is Snape." 

"Good. Anything happen or get said that I should know about?" 

"Not really. It was more tea and staring at the fire." Harry shifted his weight to one side and seemed interested in studying the bubbling potion. 

"You're a bad liar, Potter," he sneered. 

"Look, we're all alive and this side of the world hasn't blown up. And Snape doesn't know I'm not you. We didn't say anything you need to be made aware of. Is that better?" 

"You made me cry, didn't you?" 

"No." 

He raised an eyebrow at the other boy. 

"I swear! I didn't." He'd stopped fidgeting and was looking straight into Draco's eyes. 

"OK. Well, something happened to me last night that I think you should know about." 

"That doesn't sound good." 

"I got to pay Dumbledore a midnight visit. When I went to sleep I had a dream about the Dark Lord. I didn't know it was him at first--" Draco stopped when he saw a green tinge come to Harry's pale face. " Anyway, long story short, I ended up at Dumbledore's office with Severus and McGonagall. Those people, by the way, are sick. You should drop them and start doing independent work. But anyway, they ended up thinking I'd just gotten trapped in the Dark Lord's memory of the night your parents were murdered." 

"Why would they think that? What did you see?" 

Schooling his features and taking on the tone of someone discussing the weather, he replied, "I saw him kill my father and two other men. Mr. Knott and Mr. Gambler. Mad that they didn't get a prophecy, or some other thing." 

Tense silence filled the room. "I'm sorry--" 

"No you're not. You're just glad that there are three less bad guys to have to play boy-savior with. I know. It's fine." 

"It's fine? You saw...that, and all you can say is, 'It's fine?'" 

"What do you want me to say? He killed my father. And I saw it. I did it--" 

"Draco--" 

"Don't, Potter. I don't need your sympathy. The only reason I'm telling you is so you won't over-act when Severus tells you." 

"Over-act? Voldemort killed your father!" 

His green eyes flashing angrily, he snapped, "I noticed. You don't need to remind me." Stepping closer to Harry threateningly, he said, "I know your Gryffindor, 'cry to Mommy' instinct is kicking in right about now, but tone it down." 

His cheeks glowing pink, Harry seemed extremely offended for a second. "Fine. I won't do anything too un- Malfoy." 

"Good. Tomorrow, one o' clock." 

"Yeah." Draco turned and started to walk away when he heard Harry muttered, "Cold-blooded jerk." 

Looking back at him, he replied, "Yes, I am. How about trying not to ruin my rep?" 

"Sure thing." 

Draco walked around the corner, annoyed with Potter for being so stupid about it. It was a fact that Lucius Malfoy was dead. And that was to be dealt with as all facts were: you take them, know them, and then put them into a convenient file drawer for later use. It wasn't anything to get worked up over. 

Any cool that had been worked to the surface was slowly fading as he got farther from the cold dungeons. He wasn't going to class. He wasn't going to do anything. He'd get some breakfast, then go back and do some studying or something while he waited for the potion to be ready for the next ingredients. 

Just as he turned the corner, Draco had to freeze in his tracks to keep from running into Severus, who was marching towards the stairs. 

"What brings you down so early, Potter?" the man asked, eyeing him suspiciously. 

"Why do you care?" he snapped, last night's comment still fresh in his mind. 

"Ten points from Gryffindor for that cheek, Potter. Now answer my question." 

"I don't have to answer to you. I don't have to have anything to do with you at all." 

"As long as you are a student at this school you will have as much to do with me as is seen fit by Professor Dumbledore. Once you leave, you may go, on that happy day, wherever you like and have nothing to do with me ever again and I assure you I will be none the sadder." 

"Me neither." Stepping around Severus and walking a few steps down the hall, he couldn't help but turn back to him and sneer in a falsely happy voice, "Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and the Dark Lord will finish me off. Then," he went on, "you can just cut my head off and have my fucking scar on your mantel. That's the only part any of you care about anyway." 

Severus studied him for a minute with dark eyes before his said, in a measured voice, "No, Potter. I don't have that kind of luck, I'm afraid. And that will be another twenty-five points for your language." With that, he continued on his way down the stairs.

* * *

Harry tapped his feet on the chair leg, trying his hardest not to fall asleep. Binns was on a roll and was showing no sign of stopping. With nothing worthwhile to think about, his thoughts wandered to his conversation with Draco. He couldn't be as cold as that. No one could be that way about their parents. 

Trying to imagine what it must feel like to know your father _then_ lose him, Harry began to wonder if it would have been harder if he could remember his own parents. Sirius... Yes, he thought. It's much harder when you actually know them. I wonder what's going to happen when everyone finds out about Lucius. Harry recalled the cool voice--his, yet so unlike him: 

_You're just glad that there are three less bad guys to have to play boy-savior with. I know. It's fine ._

It wasn't fine. All the things he'd said to Snape the previous night came flooding back. All the things about how he hated Lucius. And people like Lucius. Was it true? Did Draco hate his father? Of course, if he _was_ upset, _I'm_ not the one he'd go to talk. He must be dying to talk to Snape. That's probably why he started the potion so early. 

The bell rang suddenly, signaling the end of the eternity of boredom. Thank God, he thought, standing up quickly and nearly falling over the chair in an effort to get out the door. 

"Draco, can I ask you a question?" 

Looking back at Goyle, who was stumbling his way up the aisle, Harry sighed. He'd hoped the fact that Draco's friends had been sitting away from him meant they didn't like him any more. Apparently not. "What?" 

"It's about Millie." 

Just the, Crabbe plowed into the boy's side and said quickly, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you first!" 

"Umm, all right." 

"No, me!" 

Me!" 

Figuring they weren't going to stop until he did something leaderly, Harry glared at them "You, talk," he said sharply, pointing at Goyle. He had been first to get there and start talking, so it was only fair. 

"I was wondering what you do to make girls, you know, _like_ you." 

Taken aback by the question, he thought for a moment. What would Malfoy say? Something about how everyone just naturally fell in love with him the moment they saw him because he was just so wonderful? Maybe not something that grand. Looking at the eager expressions on the boys' faces, Harry decided an honest piece of good advice was a good idea. "I don't know. I suppose you should be nice to them. Maybe buy them something for Christmas. Ask them to go to Hogsmeade with you." 

"Yeah, but what if they like someone else? How do you make them not like that person any more?" 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. The two times he'd been kissed it had been completely unprovoked, unless yelling and throwing fits counted... "I'd just act nice to her and maybe she'd see that I was better than whoever she liked. Why?" The idea of Crabbe or Goyle liking someone, or, still more odd, having someone like them, was strange and piqued his curiosity. 

"Because Millicent likes someone But I don't want to say who..." The two gorillas fidgeted and looked away from him. 

"Well, then I guess you should just tell her you like her and see if she likes you at all. She probably doesn't have a chance with whoever she likes anyway. If it's not one of you two," he added before thinking about how mean it would sound. 

Crabbe and Goyle thought for a moment and, whether they knew he'd insulted them or not, they both grunted and nodded their agreement. They stood for a second before hurrying off towards the small group of girls that were headed out the door, Pansy and Millicent included. 

As he watched the two boys' clumsy entrance, Harry winced in sympathy. Before he turned from the scene, Pansy looked up and caught his eye. For half a second Harry thought she was going to smile at him, but then she glared instead, her pink lips curling in a disgusted sneer. She looked back at the black-haired girl who was talking quickly. Crabbe and Goyle were still skirting the group, waiting for a good time to break in and declare their love. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry just walked passed them and down the hall. A little bit of lunch and he'd be ready for DA. As he made his way towards the dining hall, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore strolling in his direction, his usually sparkling eyes distant and thoughtful. 

"Good day, Mr. Malfoy." 

"Good day, Professor," he answered automatically, feeling guilty at the worry on the man's face. Obviously he'd already heard about Draco's unwillingness to go to Occlumency and it was wearing on his mind. 

With a dark glint in his eye, the man bulked for a second as if he wanted to say something, then just smiled and nodded a slight good-bye and continued on his way up the hall. 

Maybe he knows about Lucius Malfoy, he thought suddenly. Snape probably knows about it and told him. I wonder if they're going to tell him soon. Harry half hoped so and half hoped not. Draco probably didn't need to be told again that his father was dead, but he also didn't know how he would react if it was mentioned while he was in the other boy's body. Harry walked into the Great Hall and dropped onto an empty spot on the bench with a troubled sigh. 

"Knut for your thoughts, if you care to share." It was Pansy. 

"Not really." 

"You know, I'm still angry with you." 

"Then why are you sitting next to me?" 

"You look like you could use a friend. And besides, Vince and Greg are drooling in my usual seat. I wish Millie would just tell them to go away and get it over with." 

Harry smirked a little. He found the thought of Millicent Bullstrode being picky about guys extremely amusing. "And just who is she saving herself for? The frog prince?" 

Smirking back at him, Pansy said, "Yeah. You." 

"You aren't serious." 

"No, I'm lying. She's madly in love with Harry Potter and she's just waiting for him to grow up and notice her feminine charm." 

Slightly sickened, Harry's sneer fell and he looked at her with mild horror. Cho kissing him for no reason, he could do. Hermoine? A little weird, but sure, fine. Pansy? The jury was still out, though it didn't look good. But Millicent Bullstrode? No. Definitely no. And with the luck he had at getting out of being kissed by random girls... 

Pansy laughed suddenly. "You thought I was serious? Of course she likes you. Who doesn't?" she added, bumping her knee against his. 

A small snort of laughter escaped him before he could stifle it completely. Like _that'd_ ever happen. 

"She is very sweet," Pansy said. "And since I told her we weren't getting along she thinks she has a better chance." 

"Yeah. If by better you mean none." 

"You're being very mean." 

By the flirting smile on her lips, Harry would have to say she didn't seem to mind that he was being very mean. 

She leaned close to him. "I sort of like you mean." Pulling away and looking passed Harry, Pansy sighed a little. "Snape's coming, so I guess we better behave." 

And there was ever a question of that? he wondered, grateful that she wasn't leaning on him any more. She really did wear too much perfume. 

"Mr. Malfoy, when you've finished," Snape gave Pansy a short look out of the corner of his eye, "I need to speak with you in my office." 

"Yes, sir." If it weren't for the fact that he was really hungry, Harry probably would have gotten up right then. Taking a roll and some turkey, he ate quickly. 

"Are you in trouble again?" 

"Not that I know of." 

They ate in silence for a couple minutes before Harry got the distinct feeling that he was being stared at. Glancing sideways, he started when he saw Millicent looking at him, her muddy eyes clouded over, a dreamy smile on her face. He opened his mouth to tell her off for looking at him, but decided he didn't have the energy to be mean at the moment. 

As he peered down at his food, he thought of the potion far away in in the dungeon hall, bubbling away happily. It couldn't be done soon enough. 

TBC 


	4. Misdirected Conversations Part 2

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Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

Draco slumped in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest. If there was one thing that could possibly ruin his day, it was seeing himself looking so chummy with Pansy Parkinson. 

"I thought he stopped going out with Pansy," Ginny said conversationally, chewing on a roll. 

Turning his head slightly, a sneer on his face, Draco just looked at her with dull eyes. As least _someone_ knows! 

"What?" 

He shook his head. It would serve him right if she got a hold of him before I finish the potion, he mused. With a heavy sigh, Draco pushed the peas around his plate with his fork. Just the thought of eating made him feel nauseous. He could still see his father's terrified face when he closed his eyes. I wonder what other sorts of things he's seen in these dreams. 

"Hi, Harry." 

Looking up as Hermoine set her bag on the table beside him, Draco couldn't help but wonder what he did to get on everyone's good sides. "Hi." 

"You weren't in classes again." 

"Didn't feel like going." 

"I saw you outside Snape's class. What were you walking around down there during class for?" 

"Got bored. Went for a walk." 

"If you don't go to class--" 

Glaring at her, Draco snapped, "Do I have the words, 'Lecture me,' written across me face?" 

Effectively silenced, Hermoine bit her bottom lip. "No. It's just that you haven't been to class in days and McGonagall is really angry about it. She said to send you up to see her in her office after you finish eating." 

Remembering the previous night, Draco's sneer sharpened. "If she wants to see me so badly she can come down here. I'm not chasing after her just so she can feel like I want to see her, because I don't." 

Biting her lip once more, Hermoine opened her bag and took out her Potions text. "You missed a very important lesson today with Snape. You can copy my notes if you like." 

"No thanks." Picking up his bag, Draco stood up and walked out of the room. He didn't care about Potions, Snape, or anything else at the moment. He just wanted to be alone and the more he was around people, the more he realized it. Making his way down to the dungeon, Draco slumped against the wall of the cove at the end of the hall. Listening to the antidote boiling, he checked his watch. 

Half and hour, then the hinky punk hair goes in, he thought, stirring the mixture slowly. Severus always says patience is essential to properly brewing a potion. Hanging over the cauldron isn't helping, he mused. With a sigh, he stood up and peeked around the corner to make sure no one was in the hall. Seeing the coast clear, he strolled up the hall towards the steps. 

"Potter." 

Dropping his head back on his shoulders, Draco glared at the ceiling. More than not wanting to listen to Snape lecture him, he didn't want to look at him. Part of him knew the cool response he'd gotten about the dream was the man's reaction to Harry, but the other part of him knew that if he was truly working for Dumbledore...Would he care? If I told him Father's dead would he really care, or just pretend? Looking at the man, Draco felt a slight mix of hurt and anger that he wasn't quite sure how to deal with. 

Snape smirked at him. "Seems you're the popular miscreant today. Everyone's had their eye out for you." 

"If this is about last night, I don't feel like talking about it." 

"This isn't about last night, as interesting a moment as discussing that could prove to be. Follow me." 

After a moment of thought, Draco followed him down the hall to his office. Whatever it was he wanted, it had better not take too long. Hinky punk hair in... He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes. 

"Sit." 

"I'll stand." 

Narrowing his eyes at the boy, Snape moved behind his desk. "Whatever you prefer. Professor Dumbledore seems to think I offended you to the point that I should apologize." 

"Accepted. Can I go?" 

"I'm not finished. Like I said, _he_ seems to feel that way. I think you're just being an arrogant twit." He shifted some papers on his desk. "Just like your father," he added cruelly. 

The tone was lost on Draco, however, who merely glared up at him. 

"You have one of several choices to make, Potter. Either you can continue to throw your tantrums and act like a spoiled brat, or you can work with us and do what you're suppose to." 

"Which means telling you what I saw last night?" 

"In part, yes. Also there are the Occlumency lessons you seem disinclined to attending. Let me make myself perfectly clear. I don't like spending an extra second with you, let alone two hours. However, your ability to fend off any sort of mental attack from the Dark Lord could mean _my_ life." 

I really shouldn't be hearing this, he thought, glancing hopefully at the door. Wasn't this the part where some random first year was suppose to burst in and save him from hearing anything else he shouldn't? 

Straightening, Snape glared at him darkly. "The thought that my life rests with you is not the most settling I've ever had. It is my job to prepare you and I will not put my assignment at risk because you suddenly want to feel sorry for yourself. You aren't the only person to lose something you care about to the Dark Lord and you certainly won't be the last. What I am asking you now is this: can we depend on you, or are you going to start acting like Black?" 

That last comment was a stab Draco was sure Harry wouldn't have sat through quietly. Nor was it entirely necessary; however, he was still reeling from having been pulled so deeply into a conversation he didn't need to be a part of that he couldn't answer. He just stared up at Snape. 

"Potter." 

"Yes, sir. I mean, no. I'll do what's right," he amended. Doesn't he always? 

With another glare, Snape said in a cold voice, "Then I expect to see you after dinner. Do not be late." 

"Sure thing." Agreeing with him was the fastest way to get out. He looked at his watch. Ten more minutes. 

"In a hurry to get somewhere, Potter?" There was an amused glint in the man's eyes. 

"Not really." 

"Good. Next on our agenda is your missing my class. I meant what I said the first day. Anyone found wanting will not be permitted to stay in my class. You will not skip homework and miss periods and expect to stay. If you get yourself thrown out it will be on you to answer to Professor Dumbledore. I've already told Albus that I won't put up with your usual attitude." 

"Look, I've been having a really bad week. Can't you cut me a little slack?" 

"There you are trying to get special treatment again." 

Five minutes. If he didn't get out, and quick, the antidote would be ruined beyond repair and he didn't have any more beetle eyes to start another one. "OK, I get it. Stop whining, kill the Dark Lord, all that. I'll go to class and be a model citizen. Now can I leave?" An uneasy feeling crept into Draco's stomach when Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously for a second. Did I say something I shouldn't? 

He thought for a second, then said, "Go. Eight o' clock. Don't be late." There was a glint in Snape's eyes that unsettled him even more. 

Not answering, Draco slipped out of the room as fast as he could then ducked down the cove. There was only two minutes to get the hinky punk hair in the cauldron. Once he had it mixed in, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was close. Now just to let it simmer until tomorrow afternoon, he told himself, standing up. Tomorrow afternoon is a long way away.

* * *

With a last look at Pansy, who was eating complacently, Harry stood up. 

"Are you going down to see Snape now?" 

"Yeah." Walking to the door, he glanced over at Hermione, who was looking more than a little annoyed at she flipped the pages in her text huffily. I'll have to set things right with her tomorrow, he told himself. 

As he wound his way towards the dungeon, Harry couldn't help but feel embarrassed. He had to face Snape again. Would there be sympathy in his eyes? Pity? He didn't want to have to see that. Especially not from Snape. 

As he turned the corner, he spotted Draco coming up from the dungeons. "What did you do to get me in trouble now?" he hissed, noting the sour look on the other boy's face. 

"Nothing new. Just Snape thinking you need an attitude adjustment." 

Waving his hand dismissively, Harry replied, "He always thinks that. How's the antidote?" 

"Right on schedule for tomorrow." Casting a quick look around to be sure they were still alone in the hall, Draco stepped closer and whispered, "Severus is getting pretty angry about the Occlumency thing. I can't go tonight, but if I don't he'll be on my case all day tomorrow." 

Harry sighed. Leave it to Draco to mess up something as simple as getting out of one class! "Just don't go." 

"Then he'll be all over me! We can't afford to risk it. There's a only a very small window of time during which we can take the antidote. And I don't know about you, but three days is already too much, forget six. More, because you don't keep up your potions kit," he added accusingly. 

"I didn't think I'd have Potions this year--" 

Snorting out a short, cynical laugh, Draco said, "Join the club." 

"Shut up." 

"Potter, there you are." 

Harry was more than a little surprised to see not annoyance, but pure anger flash across Draco's face as McGonagall strode down the hall towards them. Is there something going on that I should know about? he wondered, looking at her stern...no, she was angry, too. _At him?_

What is he doing? I just got back on her good side! 

"What?" 

"I've been waiting to see you." 

Narrowing his eyes, Draco opened his mouth, obviously to say something he probably didn't need to. 

"Accidentally" stepping on his foot, Harry gave him a meaningful look, hoping he'd get the picture. 

Instead of backing down, Draco shoved him on the arm and snapped, "Watch where you're stepping, Malfoy." 

Professor McGonagall glared at Harry. "Shouldn't you be on your way to class?" 

"I have to meet with Snape," he answered, still glaring at Draco. 

"Then I suggest you go. You have fifteen minutes to get to my class and I warn you I am not in a patient mood today." 

"Yes, 'am." With a finally glare, Harry walked down the stairs. He's getting me in trouble with everyone! Not that he hadn't been on several people's bad side anyway, but at least it was his own doing. I'll have to spend a whole week just figuring out all the people he's offended, never mind trying to fix it! 

With a huff of annoyance that could have rivaled any Hermione could have managed, Harry walked down the stairs and stopped at Snape's door. Too frustrated to bother being nervous anymore, he pounded in fist on the door. Afterwards he thought that a quiet, polite knock probably would have been a better way to go. 

The door opened quickly. "What is it? Oh, Malfoy. Come in." Away from the students and the bustle of the cafeteria, Snape looked tired and slightly more rumpled than Harry had seen him since third year. With an absent wave of his hand, he motioned Harry to the chair by the empty fireplace. 

"What is it, sir?" 

"I received an owl from your mother this morning. She wanted me to be the one to tell you instead of you having to find out by reading the paper. Your father escaped from Azkaban last--" The man stopped, his wearied features sharpening suddenly. Looking down his nose at Harry, his eyes narrowed and his lips drew together in the same tight expression he used when he was criticizing a student or scrutinizing a particularly poor essay. 

Trying not to fidget or break eye contact with Snape, Harry searched his memory for anything that might give him a clue to the sudden silence. "Umm, sir? My father?" 

The calculating look left his face, but lingered in his eyes. "Yes. As I said, your father escaped from Azkaban last night. He hasn't been found. There are no leads as to his whereabouts at the present time." 

Does he know? Does he know he's dead and he just doesn't want to tell me? Trying his hardest to appear indifferent and yet concerned, Harry only managed to look confused. What should he say to that? "Oh," was all he could manage to get out. 

The dark look was still in the man's eyes. Something seemed to resolve itself there as Snape studied the boy. 

Harry could feel his cheeks tinge pink and he looked away. 

"I suppose you should be off to class." 

"Yes, sir," Harry said, a little too quickly, standing. 

"There's nothing you'd like to tell me about, is there?" 

Looking back, he should his head. "No, sir. I just..." Suddenly seeing a golden opportunity, Harry looked off, not meeting the man's eyes. "Just, about last night. Can we sort of pretend it never happened?" He hoped he sounded ashamed enough for the way he'd carried on. He felt ashamed enough, at any rate. 

There was silence for a moment before Snape said in a terse voice, "I don't know what you're talking about. I was on patrol last night. Now get to class." 

"Yes, sir." Relieved, Harry left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. That covered any possibility of Draco ever finding out about the whine session. 

Making his way up the hall to Transfiguration, Harry went back to the subject of Occlumency. Draco did have a point. If he couldn't get away from Snape long enough to take the antidote they would both be in very bad positions. However, if he actually went to the lesson Snape would find out anyway. They were as good as caught either way. He couldn't be Draco for another three days. 

Harry spent most of Transfiguration thinking about the dilemma with no result other than annoying an already perturbed Professor McGonagall. Guess the talk with Draco went poorly, he mused, too consumed with the more dire problem at hand to wonder too much about what she'd needed to see him for.

* * *

Slumping in his seat, Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders. The chairs outside Dumbledore's office were particularly uncomfortable. As the voices behind the door rattled on, he glanced around at the walls, finally bored enough to start counting blocks. When he got to fifty, his mind was pulled out of its stupor by curiosity about Harry's meeting with Snape. 

Did he tell him about Father? he wondered. Bet he did something stupid. 

_Like you did?_ a small nasty voice that sounded very much like himself sneered. 

Reflecting on his meeting with McGonagall he had to admit that it could have gone much better than it did. It started out with her asking about his assignment, to which he replied, firmly, "I didn't feel like doing it ." It only went down hill from there as she started in on him about being responsible and fulfilling commitments and doing what he should. After that came a small mention of his behavior the previous night (which was, "...unprecedented and shameful..." among other things). By that time, Draco had gotten sick of listening to her and told her so in no pleasant way. Several disbelieving gasps later, he found himself being marched to Dumbledoreâ€™s office. 

"And you'd better hope he has more patience for you today because I am just about at the end of mine," McGonagall had snapped, pushing him into one of the waiting chairs and knocking briskly on the door to the headmaster's office. 

Maybe losing my temper with her wasn't the smartest move, Draco mused. 

Several minutes later, the door opened and Hagrid walked out. He had an unusually dark expression on his face until he noticed Draco. Smiling broadly, he said, "Hello, Harry. Haven't seen you in a while." 

Standing, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. If the great oaf weren't in his way he would have gone into the office without comment, but as he took up the entire hall, Draco was forced to stand there until he moved. He hoped to pacify him with a curt, "I've been busy." 

After looking him for a moment, Hagrid nodded slightly and started down the stairs. 

Freak, he thought, walking into the office. 

Waiting for Draco, his hands folding serenely under his chin, his blue eyes sparkling in the morning light, Dumbledore sat behind his desk with an expression of unending patience fixed on his face. "Good morning, Harry." 

"'Morning, Professor," he answered tensely. 

There was a few seconds of thoughtful silence. "Did you get a chance to speak with Professor Snape?" 

"Yes. He apologized." Not really, but that would end the direction this conversation was going in. Draco didn't want Dumbledore to say anything about Severus. He didn't want to hear anything more than he already had. 

"Did he?" he asked, sounding pleasantly surprised, his bushy eyebrow raising. "Really? I doubted he would. So all is well between the two of you?" 

"As well as it ever was." 

"Ah, well, small steps, I guess." 

"Was that all, sir?" 

"Not in the least. Professor McGonagall seems under the impression that there is something far more the matter than you're letting on, even now in your very _honest_ statements." 

Draco watched him for a minute. He doesn't know, he assured himself. He wouldn't play around if he did. Right now he's just using the friend angle to try and get me to talk to him. Racking his brain for something to say that would get him out of the office the fastest, Draco finally landed on something. The truth. Or some of it. "I've been under a bit of pressure I wasn't quite prepared to deal with. Suddenly having to take Potions when I was completely unready, general stress of starting off a new year, all that Dark Lord stuff to worry about. And then Sirius. Just haven't felt quite right, I think. Not really feeling myself lately, I guess." 

"That is understandable, of course. However, open disrespect for a teacher is never something to be excused. You are setting an example for the other students to follow. I have offered to listen if you have anything on your mind." 

"I haven't felt much like talking," he replied quietly. Especially not to you. 

With a sympathetic smile, the old man said, "Sometimes when you don't feel like talking is the best time to do so." 

Got that off a fortune cookie, Draco thought. "I'll keep that in mind." 

"What exactly did you see in your dream last night?" 

"Why do you care?" 

Dumbledore sighed. "It seems to be a soft spot for you. I thought maybe talking about it without an audience would be helpful." 

"I told you I don't want to talk about it." 

"Some things hurt very deeply, Harry. There is nothing we can do to eliminate that hurt, but we can ease it with understanding and purpose. If you think of why he died, it should give you some comfort." 

He died because he's an idiot who doesn't dare think for himself, Draco sneered inwardly. 

"He died to protect you. Because he loved you, Harry. Seeing the memory of that death, while sad, should also be a sense of strength for you. Your father was a good man." 

Feeling revulsion turn in his stomach, Draco looked at the floor. If he had to listen to any more sappy simpering about God-Potter and his Wonder Dad, he was going to throw up. "Yeah, I know, everyone loves me. Was that all you wanted to say?" he snapped, unable to keep it in any longer. 

"Yes. And no. I don't just want to say it, I want you to understand it. It is true. And what you are going through, all the trouble and pain, is leading up to something that only you can do." 

No pressure, he thought. This poor kid has everyone on his case. Said it before and I'll say it again, I'd die before I trade places with Potter again. His life sucks. "Like I said, I'll keep that in mind." 

"Please do. Now to move on to your treatment of professors over the passed couple days. I can understand the animosity you have for Professor Snape. However--" 

"That does not excuse my behavior. I know. I'm sorry. But he's not exactly being nice to me, in case no one noticed." 

"And we've discussed that. As for Professor McGonagall...well, I'm really not sure what to say. You seem to have found all the buttons." Dumbledore wove his fingers together and watched Draco expectantly. 

Narrowing his eyes, Draco said, "You want an apology? All right. Sorry about that. But, as I pointed out, I've been having a bad life, if no one noticed before. She keeps dropping hints that I'm not doing what I should be, like I should have killed the Dark Lord by now, or something." 

"She doesn't mean to sound so harsh. It's difficult for you to understand, not having lived through Voldemort's first rise to power. We're all worried." 

"And I'm not?" 

"You aren't showing it very well," he said tactfully. 

Looking down at the floor, Draco asked, "Can I go now?" 

"Just one more matter to discuss. Occlumency." Pause. "You know it's important. I don't have to tell you that. I'm not asking you explain why you haven't been going. I'm pretty sure I know the reason." 

You have no idea, old man. 

"I know you can do it, Harry. I have complete faith in you. We all do. And that's why it's so hard to see you not turning up for lessons. If you just went, you'd do so well. Can I have your word that you'll go from now on?" 

The biting annoyance returned. Not so much because he was having to hear this again, but because he still didn't have a clue as to how to get around his session that night. All the Occlumency talk was just reminding him of the predicament he was in. "Yes, I promise." 

Dumbledore studied him for a moment before nodding slightly. "Very good. And don't let Severus get to you so much. One of you has to be the mature one." 

Draco couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Severus acting immaturely. Well, the low blows about Potter's parents have been pretty bad, he mused. "Yes, sir." Standing to leave, he stopped when Dumbledore said his name. "Yes, sir?" 

"Just to warn you, Professor McGonagall takes pride in her Quidditch team. More than their winning, she prides herself on moral behavior and good sportsmanship. You'll be hard pressed to find anyone who sticks to their standards more strictly than she does. One more infraction as serious as today's and I dare say she may be keeping Miss Weasley on as Seeker." 

Recalling the pitiful "team" Gryffindor ended the previous year with, Draco snorted involuntarily. "She wouldn't kick h--me off the team! We'd never win another game." 

"As I said, Professor McGonagall doesn't judge a good team by how often it wins. Just something to think about." He looked at the small, glass globe full of moving planets that sat on the corner of his desk. "My, I've kept you later than I should have. Off to class with you." 

"Yes, sir." As Draco walked down the hall, he could hardly believe his good luck. All he had to do was get mouthy with the old bat once more and Potter would be off the Quidditch team! How many Slytherins would pay anything to have this kind of chance? However, Potter would kill him if that happened. But then Slytherin wouldn't have any competition... 

Hard choice, he mused, a smirk curling on his lips. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and walked down the steps. He figured he should at least make a show at Care of Magical Creatures. Sure, he didn't have any of his books, but _Professor_ Hagrid probably wouldn't even notice. 

When he got out to the Hagrid's hut, Draco glanced around at the other students, who stood waiting to find out what their new torment would be. The worst part about being there at the moment was the fact that he couldn't make fun of the big oaf. Not unless he really wanted to draw attention to himself. And that would not be a good thing given his present circumstances. 

"All right, everybody. Gather 'round. We'll be learning about gerthies today. Who can tell me what a gerthy is? Hermione, go ahead." 

Looking behind him, Draco was only mildly surprised to see that Hermione had stopped at the back of the group without bothering to talk to him. Finally got the message, did she? he thought with a twist of amusement. Not bothering to listen to Hermione as she began her explanation, Draco leaned against the nearest tree and crossed his arms over his chest. His lack of food and sleep was catching up to him very quickly, especially as he stood by himself with nothing of any interest to occupy his mind passed watching Hargid trying to get a box open, the key to which he seemed to have misplaced. 

Draco's eyes slid closed slowly. The song of the wind through the trees acted as a lullaby, coaxing him to sleep.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy?" 

Looking at Professor Flitwick suddenly, his mind snapped away from thoughts of Occlumency and how dead he was about to be, Harry noticed everyone staring at him. "Yes, sir?" 

"We were just reading about the Jumbling Charm and it's uses. Please continue with the next paragraph." 

Feeling stupid, he said, "What page?" 

Flitwick sighed and shook hi head a little. "Please pay attention, Mr. Malfoy. Thomas, please pick up on paragraph four." 

"Yes, sir." 

Instead of opening his book or bothering to follow along, Harry tuned out the voices in the classroom and went back to trying to figure out a solution. There had to be something... 

An hour later, Harry picked up his unopened book and walked towards the door. He hoped Draco had gone to class. If so, he should be getting to the side door just about the same time Harry was passing that way to get to the dorm. 

"Draco, wait for me." 

"Pansy, go away," he said with exasperation. He was too frustrated and tired from thinking to muster a glare. All he could manage to do was look at her with annoyed pleading. 

Making her way to him, her skirt swishing around her hips seemingly on purpose, Pansy had an unreadable expression on her pretty face. "I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a walk to the lake with me. Get out of the building. A bit of fresh air." She smiled. She smelled like floral perfume. Harry could smell it, even over the distance that separated the middle row of desks from the door. 

"No. I have to study." 

"You can study later." 

"And I can study now." Turning from her, he walked out of the room with long strides. He didn't want to miss Draco. A hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. 

"We really need o talk. Yesterday I thought you wanted to get back together. Then you were mad at me, then you sat with me at breakfast, now you don't want to talk again. What's wrong with you?" 

More things than I have time it tell you about, he thought. "Right now, the only problem I have is you. You keep following me around and talking to me, when I don't want you around. We stopped dating a long time ago. For which I'm grateful," he added harshly. Draco had made it clear he wasn't interested in Pansy, so he didn't feel too bad about being so mean. And since she obviously didn't get subtle hints... "Tell you what. You want to help me feel better? Go away. Go away and don't talk to me. You'll be helping more than I could ever say!" 

Anger swelled in Pansy's eyes. Her lips tightened, her features narrowed. She was completely silent for several seconds before she snapped, "Fine. And you know, this time your little attitude isn't cute at all." 

"It was never suppose to be!" Half yelling, Harry was painfully aware of the small group of first years who'd stopped to look at him. "What?" he snapped, causing them to scurry away quickly. 

"I hate you," Pansy said with finality, turning on her heel and storming down the hall. 

Laughing a little, Harry called truthfully, "Best news I've had in days!" He, too, turned and stalked towards the door, hoping against odds that he hadn't missed Draco.

* * *

"Harry?" 

Opening his eyes slowly, Draco looked around, surprised by the sudden cold. Where was he...Oh yeah. Class. And standing before him, Neville Longbottom. 

"It's time to go in. Lunch." 

Trust Longbottom to know what tome lunch is, Draco thought. "Class is over?" 

"Yeah. Hagrid just dismissed everyone." The fat boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you need to go up to the clinic?" 

"No, I'm fine. Why do you people insist on thinking there's something wrong with me?" 

"You just aren't acting like yourself. You aren't talking to Hermione or Ron. You usually at least see Dumbledore when something's wrong, but you haven't even done that. And after last year--" 

Suddenly struck by a brilliantly obvious idea, Draco's tired eyes lit up. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this, but Neville, you're a genius!" Dumbledore! Of course! That blithering old fool had been trying to get him to talk. Open up about his feelings, for the passed two days. Fine. He wants to talk, after dinner we'll talk. I can think of enough filler whining to carry well passed eight o' clock. If I'm really needy and sick, he told himself, there's no way he'll turn me out! Especially if I feed him a fake "dream" or something. 

"Umm, OK. So, are you going to go to lunch now?" 

Draco smiled. "Sure. Sounds great." 

Deciding to pay Neville back for the good idea, Draco sat beside him at the Gryffindor table. Bet it's not too often that Potter stoops to dine with the commoners. Make him feel special. 

"Hi Neville. Harry." 

"Hi Ginny. Want to sit with us?" 

"Sure." Setting her tatty bag on the table, the red-head sat on the other side of Draco. "Tell you what, Snape is in a right mood today!" 

"I'm glad I don't have him any more," Longbottom replied with a slight shutter. 

"So are the rest of us," Draco said before he thought of how it would sound. 

Instead of getting angry, or looking offended, Longbottom smiled sheepishly and nodded. "I'm just glad I got through the last five years without killing anything bigger than a tubeworm." 

Ginny laughed and nodded her agreement. "I do pretty well, but I still don't like it. Can't wait til I'm in sixth year." 

"Yeah it's the best. You get to pick all your classes so you don't have to take anything you don't want to, but you haven't hit seventh year so you don't have to worry about university entrance exams. It's probably one of the easiest years." 

As the other two chatted about classes and teachers, Draco ate his lunch quickly. He was much more hungry than he thought he was. The short nap eased his fatigue just enough to make his hunger stand out. 

"Hey, Harry?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Are you going to stay with us over holiday?" 

"I don't know yet," he answered. 

"I hope so. Maybe then you and Ron will make up. Don't get me wrong, I know he can be a jerk, but still, it's weird seeing him without you and Hermione." 

"I think I pissed Hermione off enough that she'll be hanging out with him instead of me, if it comes down to it. So don't worry about him being alone too much." In actuality, Draco sort of preferred having Weasley and Granger mad at him. He was sure he liked spending time with Ginny much more than either of them. Not that he _liked_ spending time with the Weasel brat, she was just better than his other options. 

The conversation turned towards the previous summer and talk circled around things that didn't happen, but they wished did and things that did happen that they wished didn't. Draco could have shared several interesting pieces about his own vacation in Athens, but that probably wouldn't coincide with Potter's summer very well. 

"This summer we're planning on going abroad. Gran's got a few nieces in the United States we might go and see for a week or so. I've never been out of the country before." 

"We got to go to Egypt a few years ago. It was really fun." Looking at Draco, Ginny said, "What about you, Harry? Any plans with your relatives, or are you going to be with Remus all summer?" 

"Probably Remus, knowing my luck. Work, work, work." 

"Just be nicer to everyone, OK?" 

"No problem." Draco looked around the Great Hall, hoping to see Harry. He wanted to pull him aside and ask if there was anything in particular that would get Dumbledore into a long, uninterruptible conversation. There was no sign of him. There was, however, a very angry looking Pansy whispering furiously to Millicent, who was looking scandalized as Crabbe and Goyle (both close at hand) gasped and nodded at what they were assuming to be the right times. 

"Bet that's one great conversation over there," he muttered. 

Following his gaze, Ginny and Longbottom both nodded a little. 

"A real meeting of the minds," Ginny agreed. 

"And here comes Malfoy to join the party," Longbottom said lightly. "I haven't seen him around very much. I think he's been missing as many classes as you." 

"Go figure," Draco said absently, watching Harry walk passed the huddled group, receiving a few pointed glares as he did so. 

Glaring back at them, Harry sat by himself at the end of the table. Instead of getting right to lunch, he looked up and scanned the Gryffindor table until he met Draco's eye. 

"What's looking over here for?" 

"You know what a nit he is," Ginny commented. "Just ignore him." 

Draco nodded a little and took his time finishing his vegetables to give Harry some time to eat a believable lunch before standing up. "Well, I should be going. I have to send out the order for my potions kit refills." 

"You still haven't done that?" 

"I've been a bit busy. See you guys later." As he left, Draco kept looking over his shoulder, trying to catch Harry's eye. When he finally did, he gave him a meaningful look then walked through the door. Walking as slow as he could without looking too obvious, Draco waited for Harry to catch up. He was nearly to the corner at the end of the hall when he heard hurried footsteps behind him. 

"What is it?" Harry asked when he caught up to him. 

"I had an idea to get out of Occlumency and it won't even make you look bad. I'll just do the same thing you did with Snape yesterday." 

"Umm, great idea, Malfoy, but I don't think Snape cares if I'm upset or want to talk about anything." 

"Not him. Dumbledore. He's been on me to talk to him since yesterday morning. I'll just go in there around seven and say I need to talk to him. Give him a few sad lines about how I feel so bad about the way I've been acting, toss out a fake scar-dream, or something, and keep him talking. He won't interrupt me to send me to Occlumency if I'm finally opening up to him." 

Harry thought for a moment. "That could work, but watch what you say with your whole scar thing," he cautioned. "Don't be too detailed about anything--" 

"Don't worry. I'm just going to tell him about the really dream I had, only make it sound like I saw your dad die instead of mine. Easy. I already sort of let that slip, so all I have to do is act upset about it. Post traumatic stress syndrome and all that. It works on a delay. I'm just now feeling the full emotional effect of that dream." 

Shaking his head, he said, "You just sound too smooth when you say things like that. You really are good at lying." 

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm a Malfoy and a Slytherin. It's what I do." 

"Yeah. Just keep it believable." 

"I will." Double checking that the hall was still empty, Draco said, "About tomorrow, meet me down in the hall at twelve-thirty. The potion won't be ready until one, but we'll need debriefing time. Just to catch up on what's been going on so there are no real shocks when we get back to our own lives. All right?" 

"Good idea. I was actually thinking we could do memory charms on each other afterwards. You know, then neither of us will remember the things we heard that we shouldn't have." 

"Good idea, except the person to get it done first won't remember that they were suppose to do it to the other. No offense, Potter, but if I just had my memory altered and you were the one standing in front of me with your wand, I wouldn't be thinking I needed to do you the same favor." 

"True. So we just have to go on each other's words?" 

"Sounds like it. McGonagall is coming." 

"This is the second time I've found you two bickering the halls today. It's unacceptable." 

"We weren't bickering," Draco said. "I was asking about Potion's work." 

"You couldn't have gotten that from Miss Granger?" she inquired skeptically, narrowing her eyes at him. 

"She's sort of not talking to me." 

Whatever expression crossed the woman's face, it wasn't surprise. If anything, it was an understanding and kinship with Granger. "Get your work, Potter. But if you two do start in on each other it'll be house points and detention for the both of you. Am I clear?" 

"Crystal," Harry chimed. 

With a final glare at them, McGonagall walked away with brisk steps, her shoes clicking and tapping on the flag stone. 

"You'd think she didn't trust us." 

Smirking, Harry replied, "She doesn't." 

Remembering Dumbledore's warning, Draco said, "Oh yeah, and Potter? Right now your Quidditch eligibility is on the line. Seems McGonagall got pretty angry at me this morning. So when we switch back you better watch your step until the season starts." 

His pale face burning pink around the edges, Harry sputtered, "Wh-wat did you do?!" 

"Don't yell too loud. The old bat might hear you and think we're _bickering_. Then I'd be in trouble and you'd be off the team." Draco grinned. "I'd be real nice to me for the next twenty-four hours if I were you." 

"And you better be real nice to everyone for the next twenty-four hours or you just might regret it. Keep in mind I do still have your body," he threatened. 

"All right, all right. Geez, can't take a joke." 

Obviously unamused, Harry only glared at him. 

Talk about boring, Draco thought, rolling his eyes. "Is there anything specific I should or shouldn't mention when I'm with Dumbledore?" 

With the subject changed, Harry seemed to calm down, but he was still a little on edge as he glanced around. 

"Problem?" 

"Just making sure McGonagall isn't going to come back and get mad at us. As far as Dumbledore, don't mention my relatives. At all." 

"OK." 

"And if you have to mention Voldemort, call him Voldemort. If you say 'Dark Lord' it'll sound weird." 

Thinking back on the last conversations he'd had with Snape and Dumbledore, Draco was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he'd said the Dark Lord in both conversations. "So that V--Dark Lord thing is pretty big, huh?" 

"Yeah, sort of. Snape gets mad at me every time I say his name. Guess I can understand why, but still..." 

Severus's sudden change in dementor suddenly made perfect sense. That means he already suspects something. If he's suspicious anyway, how am I going to get out of Occlumency without him putting two and two together? Annoyed with having to deal with Potter's little quirks, Draco narrowed his eyes at the other boy in a dark glare. "You are probably the only person comfortable with saying that name," Draco informed him. "Which just happens to kill half my brilliant idea." 

"It's just a name!" Placing his hands on his hips, his annoyance visible, Harry glared back at him. 

"To you. To some people it's more than that." 

"So you're going to ruin this because you can't say one simple thing?" 

"No, I'm not ruining anything. I just want to make sure you know what I'm having to go through for this." 

"Yeah, well, you had me telling Snape I think of him as a second father. Think that was the easiest thing I've ever had to do?" 

Draco put his hands up in defeat. This wasn't helping. "OK, OK. I get it. What else? Umm, parents?" 

"Maybe. If you get stuck for anything else." 

"All right. Friends?" 

"I guess you could talk about the Weasley's...No. You can't talk about anything that might get him to say anything you shouldn't know." There were a few seconds of silence between them. 

"Potter, that's not going to happen. It would be easier facing Snape than trying to get through a two hour conversation with Dumbledore as you and not bring up something that you don't want me to know about." Another pause. "How in-depth did your conversation with Severus get the other night?" 

"Not too deep. We just sort of sat there, mostly. He didn't say anything, I didn't say anything..." 

Yep, that's Severus for you. "What about Black? Still bent out of shape about that?" 

That earned him another glare. "Yeah, I'm still bent out of shape about that," he snapped. 

"Any problems with other professors? Students?" 

"You could tell him what a twit Draco Malfoy is. I could go on for hours about that." 

"We're talking solid, important conversation, Potter. Not whining." 

Harry sighed and looked down the hall. Still no one. 

"Lunch will be over soon. So recap: Sirius, yes. Parents, maybe. Dark Lord, only if necessary. Friends, at a stretch. That about it?" 

"Yeah, I think so." 

With a sly smile, he added, "Should I, uh, mention the Granger romance as a high point of my life? I can play the confused virgin sacrifice if you wa--" 

"There is nothing between us!" Harry's face wasn't just pink, it was bright red. 

"You should tell Granger that, then. She's showing all the signs of a classic, love-sick schoolgirl." 

"Shut up, Malfoy. All you need to know about that is it's none of your business, or Dumbledore's." 

Draco opened his mouth to comment when the doors to the Great Hall opened and several students trickled out. "Later, Malfoy," he said. "Remember, twelve-thirty. Don't be late." 

"You just get through tonight." 

"No sweat," he assured him with a lopsided smile as he turned and walked down the hall.

* * *

Sitting in class, Harry tapped his quill on the desk as he looked out the window. Only two hours until dinner, he thought. Then two hours til Occlumency. What if he can't pull it off? Professor Dumbledore will know something's off, if he doesn't already. He know everything that goes on. 

Well, not necessarily, he amended. He never knew about Sirius and Dad. But they never had to do anything this dangerous. Sure, if they were found out they'd be in a ton of trouble, but this is Azkaban stuff, I bet. Letting Draco Malfoy in on some of the biggest secrets. 

Harry's nerves were so on edge by the time the bell rang to let out class that he jumped at the sound, earning odd looks from several students and the teacher. Grabbing his things as fast as he could, he bolted from the room. He had to find Draco and call off this Dumbledore thing. It was too dangerous. There was no way they could make it through this without tipping someone off by accident. 

Jogging down the hall towards his last class, Harry just prayed that he'd be able to get Draco alone long enough to call it off and work out something before dinner. 

"Mr. Malfoy, stop running in the halls." 

Though he slowed his pace a little, it did nothing to prevent him from barreling headlong into someone as he whipped around the last corner. With a thud and a crack, he landed on the floor, pain shooting up his arm. 

"Mr. Malfoy, what is the meaning of this?" If she didn't look so angry, McGonagall's state of disarray would have been almost comical. Her glasses were dangling from one ear, her usually neat, tight bun, pulled to one side. Climbing to her feet and gathering her fallen papers, she glared down at him. 

"Sorry, I was in a hurry." Trying to stand up, Harry leaned on his sore arm and let out a cry of pain. 

"Let me see," she said, pulling at his arm mercilessly. More pain coursed through him. "Looks like a sprain. You had better get up to the infirmary and have Madame Pomfrey take care of that before it swells too much." Hauling him to his feet with a yank on the collar of his robes, McGonagall shook her head at him. "And five points from Slytherin for your conduct." 

Holding his wrist to his stomach, Harry didn't have time to be too happy about the point loss. He had to find Dr-- The classroom was empty of all but Professor Milton. 

"Can I help you, Malfoy?" he asked pleasantly. 

"No, sir" Harry answered dejectedly. 

Looking at his wrist with concern, the man asked, "Are you all right? Looks like a nasty sprain." 

Having had more encounters with mixing sprains and defense professors than he cared to repeat, Harry just nodded a little and backed out of the room. "Yeah. I was just on my way to see Pomfrey." 

Professor Milton smiled encouragingly. "Good thought. She'll fix that right up for you." 

"Yes, sir," he repeated, turning towards the stairs. The whole way to the infirmary, Harry looked down every corridor he passed and up every hall, hoping against all odds that he'd see Draco. There was no sign of him. 

"What is it, Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey's usual, businesslike manner was firmly in place and with the number of younger looking students lining the walls, it was easy to understand why. 

Looking around, Harry estimated at least a dozen first- or second-years, each with skin colored various shades of purple. One boy looked particularly miserable, his face so violet that it was almost black. 

"I hurt my wrist," he said, looking back at her from the students. 

"Have a seat and I'll be with you in a moment. Don't move it." She conjured a cold pack and handed it to him. "Keep this on it for the time being." Bustling back to the farthest bed where the line of purple children began, she said sharply, "All right, who was closest to the cauldron when it exploded?" 

The most purple boy raised his hand sheepishly. 

"Very well, Gibbins. Over here" 

With a sigh of exasperation, Harry sat in one of the chairs against the wall by the door, the cold pack resting on his wrist. He had a feeling his hopes of getting out in time to find Draco before dinner were in vain. 

Half an hour later, the dozen students were all treated and comfortably put to bed. They were already starting to return to their normal color by the time Pomfrey walked over to Harry. 

"Where does it hurt?" 

"Right at my wrist." 

"Flying accident?" she asked briskly, feeling around the bones. 

Wincing, Harry shook his head. "I fell in the hall." 

"Quite the nasty fall." When she was content that everything was as it should be and there was no damage to nerves or arteries, Madame Pomfrey took her wand out and cast a simple healing spell. "That's going to swell up a bit as it heals. Keep that ice on it for the next couple hours and mind you don't lift anything heavy until tomorrow morning. If it gets irritated or starts to hurt again, come see me immediately." She wrapped a bandage around his wrist to keep him from moving it too much with a skillful ease. 

"I will. Thank you." Now seeing the simplicity of the remedy, Harry felt another turn of revulsion as he remembered his run in with Lockhart on the Quidditch field the day he broke his arm. The taste of the _Skele-Grow_ and the tingling pain of regenerating bone returned to him strongly. 

Glancing at the nearest clock, he noted, with doom, that dinner was just starting. Resolving himself to whatever fate Draco worked out for them, Harry trudged to the Great Hall. Finding a place by himself, Harry poked at his meatloaf half heartedly. 

"Hi, Draco." 

Looking up at Goyle's (or Crabbeâ€™s) thick voice, he could barely conceal the surprise he felt. "Hi. Umm, what are you doing here?" 

The other of the two gorillas walked over to them with shuffling steps. "Hi, Draco. Are you still mad at us?" 

"I thought you were mad at me by the way you were ignoring me," he commented with a slight glare. 

"Naw. We just wanted to, you know, spend some time with Millicent." 

"Yeah," the other agreed hollowly. 

"So why aren't you over there now, talking to Millicent?" Harry was more than a little annoyed at how slow they were about explaining themselves. Also the fact that they were just standing beside him, hovering, was starting to get on his nerves. 

They both began shuffling their feet, looking down at the floor. "She sort of told us she likes someone else." 

"Yeah." 

Remembering the way Millicent Bullstrode had looked at him earlier, Harry felt his appetite disappear. "Oh. Sorry," he said insincerely. 

"Can we sit with you again?" 

Not really wanting them to, but figuring Draco would have, he nodded slightly. "Go ahead." 

The two sat heavily on the bench and starting eating, talking back and forth about Divination. "She knows a lot, doesn't she?" 

"Yeah. She even told me yesterday that I was going to forget my book." 

"And you still forgot it?" Harry asked unbelievingly, unable to keep the comment to himself. Why does Draco bother with these two? They're as numb as rocks with half the brains. 

"Uh, yeah." 

"Whoa. Trelawney really is a Seer." 

Not even bothering to hide his distain, Harry rolled his eyes and went back to picking at his dinner. Sure, he knew Trelawney could make real predictions, but Crabbe's (or Goyle's) forgotten book was hardly a secret hidden in the foggy future, discernable by no one save only the truest of Seers. A tea cozy probably could have made a good guess of it and figured that he wasn't the brightest kid in the school. 

As he ate, Harry looked around the Great Hall, hoping for a glimpse of Draco. There was very little chance that they'd get to talk before he went to Dumbledore's office, but still, any small hope was something to cling to. 

There was always the option of going to Dumbledore himself. He could tell him about the switch and then the terrible conversation would never have to take place. However, Snape would be the one asked to brew the potion to put them right again, and he would figure out just from their behavior and the incident in his office exactly how long they'd been switched. Which would be bad, for both of them. 

"I can't wait until Quidditch starts. Can you, Draco?" 

Looking at them, Harry asked flatly, "Why do you always say my name? Every time you have some to say to me, you say 'Draco' afterwards. Do you think I'm stupid and I can't figure out you're talking to me by the fact that you're looking at me?" 

The two didn't say anything for a moment, just exchanged questioning glances. 

Harry sighed. "Never mind. Just stop it, OK?" 

"Uh, sure, Draco." 

Suppressing a groan, Harry went back to scanning the room. Draco was still no where to be seen. Snape, however, in all his foul-mooded glory, was quite visible. He was peering over the gathered students darkly as if he were a large, ugly bird of prey perched in a tree surveying a field of little chipmunks, just taking his time deciding which one he wanted to swoop down upon first. Beside him, Professor Milton was conversing amiably with McGonagall. 

"Draco, look." 

Not bothering to suppress his groan this time, Harry decided he definitely liked it better when Crabbe and Goyle were drooling after Millicent. 

TBC 


	5. Resolutions and Reconciliations

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Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

* * *

Having skipped dinner in favor of checking on the antidote, Draco walked down the empty dungeon corridor. Everyone else was in the Great Hall so he felt no need to rush or be particularly paranoid about being caught. Even if he did run into someone, it would only be a teacher and he could just say he was looking for Snape. Teachers were very easy to lie to. 

As he approached the cove with the simmering potion, Draco felt very satisfied to see that it was a deep green. Testing it's consistency, he was also glad to note how nicely it was thickening. 

Draco spent the last hour before he had to head to Dumbledore's office sitting against the wall with his Transfiguration book open on his lap. Though he was staring at it intently, he'd long since stopped reading. Instead, his mind was racing with thoughts about the looming meeting. When his watch beeped to signal seven o' clock, Draco closed the book and stood up, a solid plan formed and ready to be put into action. 

The walk to the upper halls went quickly enough and with no sign of Snape. The last thing he wanted was to see him and get a reminder about the lesson. Then he would have no excuse for running over in meeting with Dumbledore. When he got to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, he said the password and started up the winding stairs. At the top, he hesitated only a moment before knocking firmly on the door. 

"Yes?" 

"Professor Dumbledore, it's me. Harry," he called. 

The door opened. "Come in. Have a seat." 

Sitting in the now-familiar chair, Draco cleared his mind and concentrated on his plan of attack. He'd picked several specific topics that he was sure Dumbledore could ramble about for hours. Let the old man do the talking and I'll just nod like he's saying things I've needed to hear all my life. 

"You said I could come up if I needed to talk. I wanted to take you up on that." 

Smiling kindly, Dumbledore said, "What seems to be on your mind?" 

"The dream I had yesterday." 

"Yes?" His tone was patient, not coaxing or eager. 

"I saw him die. My father." Draco paused, breathing deeply for effect. When he let out the breath, he was more than a little surprised at how shaky it was. 

"Are you sure it was a vision and not just a dream of what your subconscious remembers?" 

"I was inside his head. It was me. _I_ killed him," he explained softly. 

"Voldemort killed him," Dumbledore replied evenly. "You had nothing to do with it. He died protecting you. He made a conscious sacrifice for you. You shouldn't feel bad about that." 

"I guess I just feel like I should have been able to do something. I was there in his mind. Why couldn't I change what he was doing?" Feeling frustrated at the patience Dumbledore was showing, Draco tried to make him understand, though he wasn't sure why. It was all a lie anyway. What did it matter if the old man got what he was trying to express? 

"It was his memory. You couldn't have changed it no matter how strongly you willed yourself to." 

Surprised at the unexpected turn the conversation was taking, Draco pulled himself back a little. He was starting to get a little off the subject. He was Potter having witnessed the memory of his father's death, not Draco, having been at his father's actual murder. "I know. I guess lately I've missed knowing him. Having gotten to know Sirius, I just wonder what Father was like. What it would have been like to have gotten to know him." 

Smiling, Dumbledore nodded a little. "Your father was a wonderful man. If you believe nothing else you hear about him, believe that. He was loyal and brave. I have yet to meet a better man than him." 

"Do you think I'm like my father? Like Snape says?" 

"You are very much like your father. However, not in the way _Professor_ Snape implies. That is a deep grudge that I fear will not be set aside as easily as I'd hoped." 

Uh-oh, Draco thought. Let's get away from Snape before he starts thinking Occlumency. Back to Daddy. " Some times it's just weird. I don't feel like I can live up to who he was. Who he would want me to be. Who everyone else expects me to be." 

"You do have a large role to fill, but no one can expect you to do it so quickly. Do not feel pressured to the point that you lose yourself in the situation. Yes, there is much expected of you. But that is because you are the only one who can do it," Dumbledore explained. He paused before continuing. "You will never be asked to do anything you can not do." 

Recalling his earlier comment to Snape about keeping his head in a jar, Draco smirked a little and shook his head. "I guess sometimes I just feel like the only important part of me is my scar." 

"All of you is very important." 

This is so pathetic, Draco thought. I feel so stupid, whining like this. I hope Potter appreciates what I'm doing. "I guess so." 

"You are still feeling badly about Severus's comment." It wasn't a question. "The two of you view each other in a very similar light." 

"Right. How's that?" 

"You only see small parts of each other. He sees your scar as a means to accomplish his goals. And you see his Mark as an opposition to yours." 

"All Snape does is criticize me--" 

"And all you do is criticize him," the man said evenly. "Severus Snape is a lot bigger person than that three-by-five-inch mark on his arm. And you are a lot bigger person than that little mark on your forehead. Some people have a hard time recognizing a whole person when one point about them stands out so strongly." There was a light amusement in his eyes. Quietly, peering over the tops of his glasses, the man said, "It is easy to make that mistake, isn't it?" 

He continued, "Both of you are people, with minds and thoughts and hearts. What you do is a reflection of your own good intentions. He believes that being hard on you will help the situation as a whole. And you-- mind, this is only my interpretation of what I have witnessed--have a hard time trusting him. Granted he has given you little reason to do so; however, as I've said before, I have my reasons to trust him and for the moment that will have to be good enough for you." 

"There is much to dislike and distrust about people, but some times you must set that aside, especially when you do not have all the facts, and look at their intentions. You will find that through common goals many people you feel most disinclined to get along with will become your strongest allies." 

Draco was quiet for a moment, thinking about that. It was sort of the same with his father. He never looked at him as a man. He wasn't a father. He was a Death Eater. All of what Draco saw him as was contained in a small, five-by-three inch mark on his arm. He was never just a man with good intentions. "I never thought of him any other way," Draco muttered, not realizing he'd spoken out loud. 

"There is always time to make things right." 

"Huh?" Oh, Severus. Father. No, he thought, there is no time. "Yes, you're right." 

He must not have sounded very convincing, because Dumbldore's eyes darkened and he folded his hands under his chin again. "There is more you aren't telling me." 

Draco opened his mouth, but Dumbledore silenced him. 

"I'm not asking you to say any more than you want to, but just know that when you do feel like sharing, I am always here." 

"Yes, sir." 

Leaning forward, he added, "You are a very special young man. I do not fault you for feeling pressured. You are. But I do fault you for your reaction to that pressure." 

Draco looked at the floor. He sure does talk a lot, he thought with annoyance. He'd very much hoped this would go more quickly. He glanced at the Time Globe on Dumbledore's desk. Eight-oh-four. Right about now Severus would be plotting Potter's murder for being late Give him another five minutes to decide he wasn't going to waste his time waiting and go to his rooms to work. After that, Draco was free to end the conversation. Then, if Severus felt like hassling him the next day, he could brush it off with a simple, " Dumbledore kept me late talking." 

"Yes, you have missed the beginning of your meeting with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said flatly. 

Looking up quickly, Draco just stared at the old man. Did he know all along that was my intention? he wondered. 

"Harry, I will excuse this behavior this time because I do have many things I want to talk to you about. You have passed up two hours with Severus for as many hours as I feel the need to keep you. Settle in." 

I should have gone to Occlumency and risked being disemboweled, he thought, sinking in his seat. 

On the talking went. Much of what Dumbledore had to say would have seemed very profound and relevant, were he Harry Potter. But as he wasn't, half of it made little to no sense, and the other half was pointless to his situation. When Dumbledore's fireplace came to life with a green flash, Draco was grateful for the distraction, until he saw that it was Severus Snape who stepped out of the hearth. 

"Albus, I have had all I can--" When he saw Draco sulking in the chair he stopped. 

"Ah, Severus. Good to see you. Sorry I didn't send you down a notice, but I had a few things I needed to discuss with Harry. I'm afraid I've kept him later than I should have." 

"Quite all right," Snape said, his dark eyes narrowing in Draco direction in a way that told him it wasn't all right at all. 

Potter'll catch it next time they meet, Draco mused. But at least I'm off. 

"Once again I apologize for the inconvenience," Dumbledore said, "but we were only at the beginning of our discussion." 

With dark eyes, the man nodded. "Of course, Professor. I will see you tomorrow night, Potter. Eight o' clock." 

"Yes, sir." Pleased at his own cleverness at getting out of the situation, Draco momentarily forgot that he still had to is through more of Dumbledore's pointless talking. 

Another hour passed very slowly with Dumbledore asking him questions, him answering the way he thought best, and then the man making comments that he seemed to think were important and well-informed, judging by his many, well-timed pauses. 

Finally, just when Draco was sure he would either break down and confess to everything, from being the one to starting the fight in Snape's office to brewing an unauthorized potion under more than inadequate circumstances, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "Only one last piece of business to discuss with you, Harry, then you can be off." 

Thank Merlin, Draco thought, looking at the old man dully with tired eyes. "Yes, sir?" 

"You seem to have something else on your mind besides Professor Snape or Voldemort. Would you like to discuss anything with me?" Peering at him wisely from over the rims of his gold-framed, half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore looked very much like he thought he was being lied to. 

He can't know, Draco assured himself. "What would I have on my mind besides them?" 

"You have gone to great lengths to keep yourself from Occlumency, and to separate yourself from those who know you best. That is usually the behavior of a person with something to hide." 

"If you're talking about Hermione and Weasley, it's nothing too much against them. I've just felt like being by myself lately and they don't seem to appreciate that fact. Wouldn't you lose your patience with them after a while?" 

Thinking, Dumbledore smiled slowly, nodding a little. "Yes, I suppose if I were sixteen, I would." 

"Was that all?" 

"Yes, Harry. Good night. And I want to hear a glowing report from Severus about you tomorrow night." 

Glowing? He might be glowing if Potter slit his wrists, Draco mused. Instead of saying this out loud, however, he merely nodded and stood up. He half expected Dumbledore to call him back when he got to the door, but he didn't. A long trek through the empty halls and up darkened staircases later, Draco was back in Gryffindor tower with several things to think about. Sure, most of what Dumbledore had said was rubbish. But there were a few pieces of advice mixed in the mess that stood out to him. 

_No one can expect more of you than you expect of yourself. If they do, there will be an unhappy balance that will throw off several aspects of your life._

How true, he thought, pulling his robes off and fishing in Harry's drawer for a set of pajamas. Thinking of his father, Draco mused over the differences in their expectations. Well then, he told himself once he'd determined that he didn't care very much about his father's plans for him, at least I donâ€™t have to explain anything to him. p>Draco crawled into bed and pulled the blankets tightly around him, closing his eyes and drifting into a light sleep. As much as he didn't want to sleep, there was no getting around how tired he was. Besides, now that he understood the dream-scar thing a little better (having heard many things he was _sure_ he shouldn't have in his conversation with Dumbledore), the prospect of sleep didn't seem quite so intimidating. At least, not while he was awake.

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep. It was two in the morning when he woke for the third time. No one had burst into the dorm and dragged him out, professing him to be Harry Potter. The world hadn't ended and there didn't seem to be any random shrieks of terror echoing around the castle. However, Harry wasn't comforted. The very thought of having to wait until breakfast the next morning to see if everything went all right with Draco was pure torture. 

After a few minutes, Harry decided a walk would calm his nerves. Without an invisibility cloak though...he mused, sliding out of bed. Snape won't get mad at Draco. I'll just tell him I was going up to the prefects bathroom for a late-night bath because I couldn't sleep. Worst he'll do is tell me to go back to bed. 

Tying Draco's bathrobe on, Harry crept down the stairs. He was surprised to realize just how comfortable he was starting to feel in Slytherin's common room. Even in the dark he knew where the chairs were and he knew when to step extra high to get over the edge of the rug. 

Being comfortable in Slytherin's dorm area wasn't exactly the best thing in the world, though. 

Walking out through the stone archway, Harry debated on where he should go. There were several passages off the dungeons which he'd never been down. There were also all the old, familiar stomping grounds. The kitchens... 

Without his invisibility cloak, everything seemed so far away and the risk of actually being seen seemed too great. Having wandered up as far as the stairs, he turned back. As he stopped by the common room entrance, the potion suddenly prickled the back of his mind. How was it doing? Was it even still there? 

Harry slipped down the hall and into the cove where his cauldron simmered away. It looked very much like it was boiling itself dry...Maybe it needs to be mixed up, he thought. Thoughts of what happened if you stirred a potion when you shouldn't ran through his head, chased by thoughts of what happened to a potion if it dried up over a flame. 

Draco knew what he was doing. But what if he'd needed to come back and add something and Dumbledore held him over? What if it was ruined?! 

"What are you doing?" 

Harry jumped, looking behind him. There, in the shadowy corridor, was Professor Severus Snape, looking none to happy. "I was just..." Oh no. 

"What is that?" 

What is it? What is it? Umm... "A sleeping potions. I couldn't sleep." 

Snape eyed him suspiciously for a moment. 

"I've been having a hard time sleeping for the past few days, actually." 

"Why didn't you go to Pomfrey?" 

Why didn't I go to Pomfrey... Harry shrugged a little. He couldn't think of a single reason Draco might give. All he could think about was how Draco was going to kill him. Then toss him to Snape. Then McGonagall. Then Dumbledore... 

Instead of moving forward to check the potion, Snape just stood where he was, then shook his head. "Ten points from Slytherin for your inconsideration. Now finish that up and go to bed." 

"It still needs to simmer for a while. Could I, umm, leave it til morning?" 

Aside from looking annoyed, Snape suddenly looked suspicious. "How long has it been simmering already?" 

"Only a couple minutes." Harry couldn't remember how long a sleeping potion needed to simmer anyway. He hoped it was a long time, though. 

With a sharp glare, Snape said, "If I come down here after lunch and it's still there, I'll be writing your mpther. You know the rules. Did you put flax root in it?" 

Harry froze for a second. He didn't know if sleeping potions needed flax root...By the way Snape was glaring, he figured he probably wasn't suppose to. However, Snape always glared like that. But not at Draco! That was the look he reserved for when Harry did something stupid in front of the whole class. 

"Flax root, did you say?" 

His eyes narrowed darkly. "Don't play stupid with me." 

"No," Harry said suddenly. "I didn't put flax root in it. Why would I?" He snorted a short, disdainful Draco laugh. "In a sleeping potion? Really." 

"You just make sure flax root doesn't make its way into that cauldron, or you and I will be having a chat with the headmaster." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Finish up and go to bed." 

"Yes, sir." 

Not wanting to press his luck, Harry stayed by the cauldron for a few minutes, pretending he was doing something, then went back to the dorm. What if Snape went down to look at it? He'd probably notice real quick that it wasn't a sleeping potion at all. 

If he'd had trouble sleeping before, it was nothing to the difficulty he was having now. 

Morning came slowly, but as soon as it did come, Harry was out of bed and dressed. Not wasting any time, he checked that the potion was still where it should be (which it was) and headed up to the Great Hall for breakfast. He wasn't sure when Draco would get there, but they needed to talk. 

An hour went by before the main body of students finally made its way in to eat. Draco and Ginny, chatting with Neville, were toward the last ones in. What is he doing with Neville? Harry wondered. Somehow, sharing a laugh with the blundering boy seemed a stretch for him to be trying to stay in character. 

Having the chance to see how miserable Ron and Hermione looked from outside the situation, Harry began to rethink how he'd treated them over summer holidays. Sure, he had a lot going on in his life, but so did they. They were in this too. Stabbing at his food, he vowed that if he ever got back to his own body, the first thing he'd do would be apologize to his friends. 

As the meal went on, no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn't get Draco's attention. And with Snape peering down at him, he didn't dare actually walk over, even under the guise of bullying. Snape obviously seemed to think something was odd with Draco anyway. Settling to his food, Harry hoped morning classes would go by very quickly.

* * *

Draco peeked around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. It was almost twelve-thirty and there shouldn't have been anyone in the dungeon hallways. Snape had a class until one, as did everyone else. When he got down to the cove, Draco looked at the potion. It was thick and dark green, like lumpy gray that had gone bad a very long time ago. Perfect. 

After about ten minutes, Draco was pacing back and forth, looking at his watch every few seconds. If Potter was late... 

"Draco. I don't think I'll ever be this glad to see you again." 

Smirking, he turned to the boy. "Same here. So, debriefing. You start." 

Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, Harry thought for a moment. He looked tired and pasty. There were slight bags under his eyes and he seemed very troubled. "First of all, we have take that potion at exactly one and get out of here before Snape comes." 

"Snape? Why would he come down here?" 

"He, umm, sort of found the potion last night." 

"What?!" Draco wasn't sure if he should be more scared or angry. 

"It's fine. For the moment. He didn't look at it, that I know of. I told him it was a sleeping potion I was putting together for myself. He seemed to get really annoyed when I asked if I could let it sit til morning. Then he started asking me about flax root. I don't know what he was trying to get at." 

Groaning, Draco leaned heavily against the wall and sank to the floor. "For your information, Potter," he sneered, "the longer you leave a sleeping potion to simmer, the stronger it gets. Adding flax root to a long- simmer sleeping potion turns it into an illegal potion." 

"Why would he think you were brewing illegal potions?" Harry asked slyly. 

Looking down, Draco said, "I got in a bit of trouble in second year with it. Flint talked me into--Why am I telling you this?" 

Harry shrugged. 

"What else?" 

"Crabbe and Goyle are over Millicent and they're back to spending time with you. Pansy Parkinson probably hates you, and will hate you forever. I was pretty nasty to her. Like I said, Snape thinks you may be brewing illegal potions, and that's about it. Oh, you sprained your wrist yesterday, too. Just incase you wanted to rewrap your arm and make a fuss about it." 

"Shut up, Potter." 

"You shut up. What happened to you?" 

Draco thought for a second. If he told Harry about the conversation with Dumbledore, that would be very bad for him. He'd definitely heard more than he should. Granted he didn't understand half of it... "Well, Granger hates you. Weasley's pretty mad too. The only people talking to you right now are Ginny and Longbottom, actually." 

"What were you doing being so chummy with Neville this morning, anyway?" 

"What? Do you hate him, too?" 

"No. I just didn't think you'd be nice to him, is all." 

Draco shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry. You underestimate my genius." Actually, it had been Ginny who invited him to sit with them at breakfast when they found him blubbering about something in the corner of the common room. "But anyway, you never turned in your organic transfer paper. I'm sort of not speaking to McGonagall, the werewolf, or anyone else besides Dumbledore and Ginny. You promised to be a good boy about your lessons with Snape, and you had a nice, long heart-to-heart with Dumbledore last night." 

"What did you guys talk about?" 

"Nothing too important. He said a lot of things I didn't understand, I whined about general stuff, and we called it a night." 

Narrowing his eyes at Draco, Harry asked, "Did he say anything you _did_ understand?" 

"Nothing that sounded very important to me. Let me see...I think that's it that I haven't told you about already." There was no need to mention the few small details about his shared moment with Granger. If it happened to come up that Harry kissed her on the cheek, fine. If not, even better. 

"If that's all, we only have--" Harry checked his watch, "--five minutes." 

The two boys sat, leaning against the wall opposite each other, in silence. The bubbling of the cauldron, the ticking of his watch... There was the distinct sound of rustling papers from down the hall, as if Snape's class was packing up there things. 

"Almost time." Draco moved next to the cauldron and ladled out two serving of the potion. "All right. All we have to do is drink these, at the same time. Three more minutes." 

"We don't have to put anything else in them?" Harry asked, eyeing the thick liquid. 

"Like what?" 

"I don't know. I mean, how does it know who we want to turn into?" 

"There's a bit of hinky punk hair in the brew. Hinky punk hair is used in very few potions, so it's universal in connection signatures. It only works if the hair in each dose of potion is from the same punk, of course. That's why it's all stored separately in little bags instead of mixed in a jar like the beetle eyes or frog spleens." 

"Connection signatures?" 

"Learned about them a few days ago, Potter. When we did the Switching Solutions. The hinky punks have specific chemical make-ups in their hair. No two are ever alike. Which means that the magic in a potion using punk hair can identify and react with other people who have taken the same potion from the same sample. This is grade one stuff. You really could use Remedial Potions." 

Half heartedly, probably agreeing completely that he could do with help in Potion's, Harry said, "Shut up." 

Just then, the end of class bell sounded and the noise of students flooding the hallway filled the air. 

"Cheers, Potter," Draco said, holding up his glass. 

Harry leaned forward and clinked the edge of his glass against Draco's and drank. After two swallows, he said, "This stuff doesn't taste nearly as bad the Pol--as I thought it would." 

"I added a taster to it. Mint leaves. They take the bitter flavor out of the beetle eyes and tone down the acid in the snipe grass root." 

They each downed the rest of their potions and waited. 

"Do you feel different?" 

"No. Do you?" 

Harry shook his head. "Maybe you did something wrong." 

"Right. Maybe you messed with it." 

"Why? Because I want to stay this way?" Harry hissed. 

"_I_ certainly am not--" Whatever Draco certainly wasn't Harry would never find out. A sudden wave of dizziness struck them both at the same instant and they staggered. Draco felt like he was in an out-of-control floo connection. His head was spinning and he couldn't seem to tell the ground from the ceiling. Leaning forwards, he closed his eyes tightly. 

"I think I'm going to be sick." 

"Do it over there," Draco muttered, resting his forehead on his knees in an effort to slow the whirling shadows of the dungeon cove. 

Several moments passed before Draco looked back up. For a moment he was surprised to see himself sitting across from him. Then he remembered that that wasn't himself. He was blond. Which meant... 

"We're back!" Wincing at how his voice rang in his ears, he leaned forward and poked Harry sharply on the arm. "Hey, you alive?" 

"Yeah. Barely," Harry muttered thickly. 

Suddenly, sharp footsteps were coming towards them. Draco grabbed the wand out of his pocket and made the cauldron, potions kit, book, and glasses disappear. 

Stopping in the entrance way, Snape seemed more than a little surprised to see Harry Potter on the floor, his head between his knees, while Draco sat across from him, looking equally as ill, his wand drawn. He asked in a cool voice, "Fighting, were you? That will be ten points from Gryffindor and a detention. I'll let you know when it is tonight, Potter." 

"Yes, sir," was all he could say as he tried to climb to his feet. 

Draco tried to maintain more of his composure than Harry was by moving more carefully, but he was sure he looked just as bad off. 

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?" 

"No, sir," Draco said. "I think I just need to lie down for a while." Any elation at being back in his own body was dulled by the ache in his brain and the twist in his gut. He hadn't felt that bad since he had to take cough medicine his mother made herself. 

There was a dark glint in Snape eyes as he peered down at Draco. "As long as no one's been taking any odd potions." 

"No, sir. Well, I haven't. As far as Potter goes, he's probably just stumbling around from another scar thing." 

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said sharply, still leaning on the wall, looking distinctly green around the edges. 

Snape still had a suspicious look, but he merely turned dark eyes on Harry. "Potter, I suggest you go to your dorm. Malfoy, my office." 

With the relief of sitting in one spot clashing with the dread of being in Snape's office after that little scene, Draco wasn't sure if he should feel good or bad about this particular moment in his life. 

Sitting behind his desk, Snape peered across at Draco, his eyes dark. "And how was your potion?" 

"The sleeping potion? Fine, thank you, sir." For some reason the room was very hazy. There wasn't a fire in the hearth, nor any fumes from simmering cauldrons. Draco tried very hard not to squint at the man. 

Seeming to relax a bit, Snape moved a stack of papers from one corner of his desk to the other, straightening them as he did so. "I received news about your father this morning." 

That was not what he'd expected to hear. His insides freezing, Draco shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir?" 

"He has been found. Alive." 

His brow furrowed. "What? When? Where was he?" 

"Those are all things I cannot tell you. Simply let it suffice to know that he has been located." 

"By who?" All the anxiety he'd been feeling over the past couple days broke. He wasn't entirely relieved, but the tension his head was eased a bit. "Is he back in prison?" 

"That is another question I can't answer." Snape's eyes were blank and cool, distant. 

In other words, Draco thought, no. He wasn't found by the Ministry. The Dark Lord didn't really kill him like he threatened. Just tortured him... "Does the Dark Lord torture his followers often?" 

Looking a little surprised at the question, Snape thought for a moment before answering. "He is an advocate of strict discipline." The answer was measured and even. 

"So, yes." Draco thought about what he'd seen in that dream. For the first time in days, he felt comfortable thinking about it. He knew his father wasn't dead and now he had Severus to listen to him. And then Severus isn't necessarily _on_ the Dark Lord's side...Draco had to physically push that thought away. He wasn't suppose to know that and thinking about it wouldn't do anything. Maybe if he planned on ratting him out, but he had no such intention. 

Draco nodded towards Snape's forearm. "Do you ever regret it?" 

His long fingers going almost subconsciously to the cuff of his robes, Snape had to think about his answer once again. "Joining the Dark Lord when I did provided me with opportunities I would not have if I hadn't." He paused. When Draco didn't say anything, Snape said, "The times is shortly coming when you will have to choose a side." 

"And what makes you think I haven't chosen already?" 

"Because I know you, Draco." 

"And now you play the recruiting theme, right?" 

"No. I simply what you to be aware of what is transpiring. There will be no in-between. No neutral ground. You best decide now what you want, while you have room enough to breathe and look at your options. Making decisions under pressure rarely leads to a good outcome." 

Smirking, Draco asked, "And what would you do if I said I wanted to join Dumbledore? I want to be Harry Potter's lackey." He knew he was toeing the line, possibly getting himself into more trouble than he could get himself out of, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to test Severus. How far would Severus go? Was he just a game? Chum up to Malfoy's kid so everyone thinks he really is as evil as he seems? Get himself in with the Death Eaters? Did Severus really care about him and his mother, or was it all an act, like his loyalty to the Dark Lord? Draco suddenly felt a burning need to know. 

"I'm sure you will make whatever decision is right for you. I wouldn't pressure you either way. What's right for me may not be right for someone else. And besides, if you ever told me you wanted to be 'Harry Potter's lackey', I'd think you'd gone insane." 

Draco smirked. "Right." 

"If you have no more questions, you may leave. Oh, but before you go, one thing real quick. If I catch you hexing anyone again, even Potter, you will have a detention." 

"Yes, sir." As Draco left the office, he saw Pansy down the hall, her Potions text in her hands. If he thought she looked annoyed or upset, it was nothing to the anger that flashed in her eyes when she turned in his direction and noticed him there. Draco opened his mouth to say hello, but before he could, Pansy shot daggers at him then turned and stormed up the stairs, bumping carelessly into a first year. 

He wasn't joking when he said he made her mad, was he? he mused. After a second, Draco smirked to himself and jogged up the steps. Whether it was being back in his body, or the fact that the nausea passed, he wasn't sure, but he was suddenly in a very good mood. The thought of playing up the old Malfoy charm and setting things back to normal with Pansy was very appealing. Besides, there was an unspoken agreement that he would marry her some day. He might as well be on her good side.

* * *

Harry made his way shakily up to the Gryffindor common room. He'd never noticed how far away from the dungeons it was. When he got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, he said, "_Retrouver_." 

"You look a bit peaky," the Fat Lady commented. 

"Thanks. Can I go in now?" The painting swung forward and Harry climbed into the room. Thankfully, the room was empty. Everyone was still at lunch. Stumbling his way up the stairs, Harry flopped back on his bed, pulling the hangs over enough to block the light. Just a few minutes of lying still. That was all he needed ... 

The seconds passed, and the minutes passed. It was at least half and hour before the room stopped spinning. When it did, Harry sat up slowly. When everything stayed where it was suppose to, he stood up and stretched. He was suddenly very aware of his glasses, perched on his nose. After going several days without them, they felt heavy, like when he'd first gotten them. 

Assured that he was safe on his feet, Harry left the room, his hands in his pockets. He was very aware of how people were staring. He smiled to himself. Got to get use to that all over again. Oh well. By the time he got down to Hagridâ€™s hut for Care of Magical Creatures, everyone else was already there. 

"Surprised you bothered to make it," Ron said snidely. He was standing close to Hermione. 

They must have joined forces against Malfoy, Harry mused. Somehow, he found that more funny than annoying. "Yeah, me too. I wasn't feeling well at all." When neither of them offered anything else, he continued, "Can we, umm, talk after class?" 

They both looked at him warily. 

"No yelling, no nothing. I just have a few things I need to say to you guys." 

They still didn't answer and before Harry could press them, Hagrid came walking up, an oddly shaped blob of ..._something_ dangling from his right hand. "'Afternoon. Today we'll be learnin' about something' very interesting," he boomed. 

As much as he could, Harry turned his attention to the lesson. 

When they were dismissed, Harry started to walk away with the rest of the students. 

"Thought you wanted to talk." 

Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione who stood, looking very unforgiving, yet resigned. Well, Hermione looked resigned. Ron looked like he'd probably rather walk away without a word, but he didn't. 

"I just wanted to apologize--" 

"Again?" Ron snapped. 

"_Yes_, again. I've been a real jerk over the last few days--" 

"Months," corrected Hermione stiffly. 

"Yeah. Months. But I just want you guys to know that I am sorry. And it won't happen again. Ever. Believe me, I am more sorry than I could ever tell you." 

Hermione seemed to be wavering slightly, but Ron wasn't budging. "And what brought this sudden realization?" 

"Let's just say I learned something about myself over the passed couple days. I, umm, guess I finally had a chance to step outside myself and really look at what I was doing. Give me another chance?" 

Studying him, Hermione said, "I don't know, Harry. I mean--" 

"I understand how mad you must be. I don't blame you. Just think about it." After looking at the two of them for a moment, Harry turned and walked away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He'd tried. He was sincere. Now all he could do was wait.

* * *

Draco knew right where to go to find Pansy. Smirking at her predictability, he sighed softly and stopped by the bush. He just looked at Pansy for a moment, her long hair shining in the sunlight as it fell in light waves against her black robes. 

"It's pretty out today," he commented softly. 

When she turned, there were tears in her eyes. "Go away, Draco," she said. 

Ah, you're first mistake, he thought, watching her jerk her head back around so she wasn't looking at him. Never show signs of recognition. Sauntering forward a few steps, he knelt beside her. "You OK?" 

"I said leave! I'm not bothering you so don't bother me." 

Wonder what happened between her and Harry, he mused. With a slight smirk, Draco leaned over and brushed his lips against her cheek. "I love you, too," he whispered, before standing up and walking back towards the castle. 

"Draco?" 

He turned back to her. 

"You didn't mean what you said the other day?" 

Smiling a little at the hopeful expression in her eyes, he shook his head. "I haven't really been myself lately," was all he said. 

Smiling her usual smile, Pansy walked over to him and took his hand. "You're lucky you're so cute or I wouldn't forgive you nearly as much as I do." 

He draped his arm over her shoulder, taking the heavy Potions text out of her hand, the easy smile still on his lips. After life as Harry Potter, being Draco Malfoy wasn't so bad.

* * *

Sighing, Harry sank onto the bench in the Great Hall. The rest of afternoon classes were over and Ron and Hermione still hadn't spoken to him. He'd gotten a few very dark glares from McGonagall; there another situation he figured he should try to fix. Poking at his dinner, he was very surprised when Hermione came up beside him and dropped her bag on the table. Ron was right beside her. 

"Hi," he said slowly. 

Hermione smiled a little. "Hi." 

Ron just sat down on the other side of Harry with a nondescript grunt, but it was good enough for Harry. Grinning, he went back to poking his food. Sure things weren't very easy all the time, but now that he knew his friends would always be there for him, being Harry Potter didn't seem so bad. 

END 


End file.
